#“now it's time to introduce you to MAGIC ASSAULT”

[crystallizsch]

oh yeah happy end of culinary crucible 🧑‍🍳💜

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 5

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“You want to talk about it?” Her mate asked her flatly and Mor couldn’t help but grimace.

"No," Mor said simply, her tone clipped. She had been hoping to avoid this conversation, but it seemed as though Emerie was not willing to let her off that easily. "There's nothing to talk about."

Her mate just snorted. “Yeah, absolutely nothing,” she said sarcastically. “How about the fact that the male that spend 500 years being in love with you, met his mate 2 years ago and hasn’t said a single thing about it to any member of his family?”

"What do you want me to say, Em?" she asked with a sigh.

At the start…before Nesta had forced her to actually confront what she was feeling…Before she actually thought about the fact, that no…it wasn’t actually funny for Azriel to keep their mate from them…and it also wasn’t normal for him. Of course, Azriel liked his privacy, it was something that he fiercely guarded, but he was also…he wouldn’t have actually hidden away his mate from his family. He would have introduced her, would have invited her to birthdays and Winter Solstice and Starfall…

But he hadn’t. 

He had rather hidden away every trace of that relationship than actually talk to any of them about it. 

“Nesta told me that she laid into you,” Emerie said with a shrug. “You did use Azriel, you know that, Mor.”

Mor's expression hardened at Emerie's words. 

Emerie was right. She had used him. 

Of course, at the time…she had been desperate, afraid of the feelings that she had been having…willing to hide them… but the way she had gone about it hadn’t been…It hadn’t been fair. 

She just didn’t like to reflect on that. 

"It doesn't matter now, Em," she said flatly. "It's in the past."

“Is it?” Emerie asked, sharply. “You never tried to actually talk to Azriel about it. You just expected him to be alright with it. Alright with us,” she continued. “He has never once been anything but polite to me, but quite frankly he would have had every right to be pissed off.”

Mor just so managed not to grimace. 

Not a single word. Not a single gesture. Nothing but politeness and kindness had come from Azriel after her and Emerie’s mating bond had snapped. Nothing. 

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I'm racked with guilt every damn day?" she asked her mate, turning away from from Emerie, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I know that I hurt him, Em. I know that I used him. But what do you want me to do about it now? It's in the past, it's done. I can't change it."

Emerie was silent for a moment, her expression softening slightly. "You can apologize," she said softly. "You can try to mend what you broke. And maybe, just maybe, he'll forgive you."

Mor let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Apologize? For what?" she asked, her voice dripping with self-mockery. "For using him? For making him think he had a chance with me when he never did? For breaking his heart when I knew damn well how he felt about me?"

Emerie's expression hardened again. "Yes," she said firmly. "For all of those things. Because at the end of the day, Mor, you used him. And he deserves better than that."

Mor's shoulders slumped, the fight leaving her all at once. She knew that Emerie was right. She knew that she had been selfish, that she had hurt Azriel in a way that could never be undone. But the thought of facing him, of admitting her mistakes and opening herself up to the pain and rejection that surely awaited her…it was terrifying.

“I imagine he had a few very good reasons to keep Irena a secret from all of us,” Emerie said softly. “Regardless of what feelings he once harboured for you…he was always your friend, Mor. And he kept his mate a secret from you.”

Mor sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I know," she said softly. "I know. I thought it was jsut Az being Az but it’s not, is it?”

Emerie reached out, placing a gentle hand on Mor's arm. "No," she said softly. "It's not. It's him protecting something that he loves. And I don't blame him for that."

***

“Are you hungry?” Azriel asked his mate softly.

Madja had checked on her the evening before…had told her to keep off her leg for a few days and plied her with more potions, bandages the bruises again… given her more sleeping draught. It hasn’t stopped Irena from waking up twice with nightmares.

"No," Irena said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have much of an appetite." She looked pale, her eyes dull and lacking their usual sparkle. It was clear that she hadn't slept well, and his heart ached at the sight of her discomfort.

Shock had dissipated and left his mate…grieving and sad and Azriel curled himself tighter around her.

He could feel the weight of her sadness and grief, and it broke his heart to see her this way. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close and hoping to offer some comfort and support.

“You need to eat something, love,” he insisted softly. “Whatever you want.” 

He really didn’t care if all she had in her stomach were her favourite cookies, at least that would be something. 

Irena shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "I don't want anything," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Just...just stay here with me."

Azriel's heart tugged at her words, and he pulled her even closer, cradling her against him. "Of course," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her head. "I'm not going anywhere, love,” he promised her fiercely. “But you still need to eat something,” he whispered. “How about the shadows get you one of those blueberry pastries you like?”

Irena sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Alright," she said softly. "I do love those pastries." She looked up at him, her eyes still dull but a small hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He didn’t even need to order the shadows to do anything, they had one of her favourite blueberry pastries on a plate on the bed side table in a breath. *Please tell me you left the money,* he told them mentally.

The shadows seemed almost indignant. *Of course we left it. Do you think we're thieves?* Azriel smiled at their tone."

"Of course not," he said aloud, reaching for the pastry and offering it to Irena. "You're just very efficient." The shadows swirled around him almost smugly at the praise, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” Irena thanked them softly. The shadows preened.

Azriel chuckled again, watching as the shadows swirled around Irena, as if basking in her gratitude. It was cute how they seemed almost puppy-like in their desire for her attention. 

He was amazed, as always, by how much the shadows adored her.

He had never expected them to warm up to anyone else, especially not as quickly as they had to his mate. 

Suddenly…as soon as he had properly introduced his shadows to her…as soon as it was clear that she wasn’t going to start flinching away from them or from him if they showed up to badger her…as soon as that was clear, they had started to dote on her. Seemingly so pleased that there was another person that wasn’t scared off them. 

The shadows and Irena had formed a bond that defied explanation, and it made Azriel so happy to see the two things he cherished most in the world getting along so well.

(Even if he sometimes got jealous that the shadows never had doted on him like they did on Irena. He got porridge for breakfast but Irena got the ridiculous expensive pastries from the newest high end bakery. Irena got bubble bath, while he only got salt dumped into his bath water and got told that it was good for his muscles.) 

He watched as the shadows swirled around Irena, nuzzling against her like cats seeking affection. Irena laughed softly as they tickled at her ears and played with her hair.

He knew that his shadows were often feared and misunderstood, but with Irena they were playful and affectionate. It was like she had unlocked a whole new side of them, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of them interacting so sweetly with her.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "I never thought I'd see the day when my shadows would be so smitten," he teased, his lips curving into a small smile. "I should be jealous, but I can't help but find it adorable."

Irena laughed, her eyes sparkling for the first time that day. "They're so sweet," she said, reaching up to brush her fingers through the shadows that surrounded her. "It's like they're a different side of you."

Azriel chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "I guess they are a part of me, in a way," he said. "And they seem to have a mind of their own, especially when it comes to you." He watched as the shadows nuzzled against her cheek, almost vying for her attention.

"They're quite taken with you," he said with a grin. "I don't blame them. Still, it's strange to see them so affectionate towards someone else." He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"But it makes me happy to see them like this," he said softly, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "It's like you're bringing out a side of them that I never knew existed. And it's a beautiful thing to witness." He leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead. "Just like you."

There was a knock at the door.

*The High Lord and the Ancient One,* the shadows offered. *And the healer.*

*I’ll deal with them,* Azriel said with a snort.

“Finish your breakfast, alright?“ he told Irena softly as he slid out of the bed. Irena nodded, a small smile on her face. 

"Thank you," she said softly, watching as he got up to answer the door.

“Madja,” he greeted the healer drily. “Irena just had breakfast. The bruises are already lightening,” he reported.

Madja nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good," she said. "Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, make sure she takes it easy. The leg needs to heal properly." He opened the door further, letting Madja slip in, and could just hear, "How are you feeling, my dear?" From Madja and Irena’s soft answer.

Which meant that Azriel turned towards his brother. “What do you want?” He demanded from Rhys, his voice sharp. 

Rhys held his hands up in surrender. "Calm down, Az," he said, his voice low. "I just wanted to check on Irena. Amren looked at the spellbook that Merrill was using,” Rhys explained.

“And?” Azriel asked flatly.

Did it actually matter? Merrill had been stupid and arrogant and a thousand other things. The spell didn’t seem to have done anything to Irena…her injuries had been thanks to the debris that had resulted in the spell going absolutely haywire, killing Merrill and seemingly exploding her office. 

“It was written in a language I do not know, but the best match is ancient Illyrian,” Amren gave back drily. 

Azriel's expression darkened at Amren's words. "Ancient Illyrian?" he repeated, his mind racing. "That can't be good."

Not at all. He didn’t even want to think about what his ancestors had come up with. 

"It seems to be a very old dialect," Rhys explained. "One that hasn't been spoken or written in centuries. It'll take some time to decipher it, but we're working on…”

“It seems to be a healing spell. Probably used in childbirth,” Amren cut him off. “When it didn’t find a pregnant female to latch onto, it redoubled back onto Merrill.”

"So Merrill's own spell backfired on her," Azriel mused. "And Irena got caught in the crossfire." He rubbed a hand over his face. “Has the spell done anything to Irena?” He demanded.

“Madja didn’t think so,” Rhys said carefully. “I wanted to check on Irena if that’s alright with you.”

He crossed his arms, not willing to entertain that even for a moment. 

“No,” he said flatly. 

“Let him in, Azriel,” his mate said softly, and he turned towards her, staring at Irena. 

The shadows were already dragging a fur around her shoulders, fluffing the pillows behind her, as Madja bandaged her leg.

Irena met his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He didn’t want Rhys anywhere near her, Azriel was certain of that. And still…an still…

“Fine,” Azriel growled, stepping aside to let Rhys through. "Don't overstay your welcome," he warned Rhys. 

Rhys nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Azriel's protectiveness. He clapped a hand on Azriel's shoulder reassuringly. "I won't stay long," he reassured his brother. "I just want to make sure she's alright."

Amren rolled her eyes, but for once didn’t say another word as Azriel closed the door. 

“High Lord,” Irena greeted Rhys, every inch the perfect lady even while she was laid up in her bed.

Rhys inclined his head, smiling gently at Irena, while Azriel already crossed the room to sit at her bedside, taking her hand in both of his. She reassuringly squeezed it. 

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked her. 

Irena gave him a small smile, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I've been better," she admitted. "But I'm healing, I suppose." She gestured to the leg, Madja was bandaging once again.  "Madja says I'll be good as new in a few days. And I’ve had worse,” she added flatly.

Rhys chuckled softly, his eyes softening with concern. "I don't doubt it," he said. "But still, it must have been quite a harrowing experience." He paused for a moment, looking at her intently. "I wanted to speak to you about what happened," he said gently. "If you feel up to it, of course."

Irena nodded, steeling herself for whatever questions Rhys might have. "Go ahead," she said quietly.

"I just wanted to ask you about what you saw when the spell hit you," Rhys said carefully. "Do you remember anything after the initial blast? Could you show me?”

“No.” Azriel snapped. “You are not going read her mind, Rhysand.” Not in a million years. 

He nearly bared his teeth at his High Lord in annoyance, already regretting letting him into their room. 

Irena was healing.

Rhys held up his hands in surrender, his eyes flickering to Azriel for a moment. "I wasn't going to do anything without her permission,  brother," he assured him calmly.

“It’s alright,” Irena agreed with him. “It’s fine, Azriel,” she assured him softly.  Azriel tensed for a moment, torn between wanting to protect her and respecting her wishes. "I want to do this." She turned her attention back to Rhys. "Go ahead."

Rhys nodded, his expression serious. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low. "It might be difficult to recall the memories, but I need you to try."

Irena just inclined her head. "I'm sure," she said firmly. "Just...just go ahead."

Azriel watched, holding her hand tightly. Rhys was well trained at using his daemati abilities, but that didn’t mean that…

A moment later a soft shudder run through his mate, and Azriel growled. 

“Thank you, Irena,” Rhys said quickly, clearly already withdrawing from her mind.

“What kind of spell was it?” Itena asked her voice hoarse. 

Rhys sighed, "The spellbook was written in some kin of ancient language, we think some dialect of Illyrian. The spell itself was healing spell, probably used for childbirth," he explained. "The magic was searching for a pregnant female to latch onto, but when it couldn’t find one, it became more volatile," he said, his expression grave. "And that's when it found you, Irena. It was a complete accident, but the effects were still devastating."

“Did it do…anything to me?” Irena asked Madja quietly.

Madja looked up from the bandages she was applying to Irena's leg, her expression softening as she took in Irena's worried expression.

Madja studied her for a moment, her eyes flickering over the various scrapes and bruises on Irena's body. "Not as far as I can tell,” Madja said finally. "You're healing nicely, and there are no lasting effects to your body that I can see.”

It was something. It was reassuring to know that her physical injuries were being healed, and that there were no lasting effects.

Azriel squeezed Irena's hand, relief flooding through him at Madja's words. 

It was good. Some form of healing being found…

And the last thing Azriel had expected, where Irena’s next words, as she addressed Rhysand. 

“I’ll hand over my duties to Madja, as soon as I can,” Irena said softly. “I am aware that after what happened I am no longer suitable to make any more research involved decisions. I take full responsibility for what happened.“

Her voice was even, measured. Calm. 

Even when he could see the storm in her eyes…even when he could see…

She loved her job. He knew that she loved her job. She adored it in fact. And she excelled in it too. Irena seeme to be made for her job in the House of Wind. And to hear her contemplating giving it all up, just because of an accident that hadn’t been her fault at all…

Azriel opened his mouth to protest but Rhys spoke before he could say anything. "That won't be necessary," Rhys said firmly. "Irena, what happened was a complete accident. You had no control over what happened, and we all know that." He shook his head, his expression serious. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Rhys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent on Irena. "If anyone is to blame, it's Merrill," he said softly. "She was the one who was messing with magic beyond her understanding, she didn’t follow your orders and she was the one who unleashed that spell. You were just an innocent bystander in all of this."

He paused, looking between Azriel and Irena, his expression softening. "We will need to take precautions going forward, so nothing like that can ever happen again." he said carefully. "But we can figure that out together. And you do not need to give up your duties, Irena. We need you."

Irena looked down at the blankets in her lap, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread. "But what if something like this does happen again?" she asked softly.

Rhys shook his head, his expression firm. "It won't," he said, his voice filled with conviction. “None of what happened was your fault,” Rhys repeated firmly.

Azriel nodded in agreement, his grip on Irena's hand tightening. "He's right," he said gruffly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, love. This is on Merrill, not on you. "

“And you can’t quit because otherwise we’ll all drown under paperwork. Well, more than we already do,” Rhys said with a sigh.

Irena chuckled softly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Well, I suppose I can't let that happen," she said wryly. "I can’t let the high Lord deal with even more paperwork, can I?“ she said drily.

Rhys moved to stand but then he suddenly froze. “You have been doing this on purpose,” he suddenly said, staring at her.

“Doing what?” Irena asked, cocking the head to the side. “Make sure that the library generates plenty of paperwork that needs the High Lord’s personal attention?”Rhys stared at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and awe. 

"You really are quite devious, aren’t you?" he said with a small laugh. "I never would have thought you’d be using your job specifically to ensure that I spend even more time doing paperwork."

“I don’t.” Irena said flatly. “It was petty revenge.”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "Petty revenge?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What on earth did I do to deserve such punishment?"

Irena just stared at him for a moment. “Maybe you should think a bout how you have been treating my mate.”

What? 

Azriel had had no clue that…

Azriel hadn’t known about that. Hadn’t had the faintest inkling. 

Irena had been making sure that Rhys had more paperwork to go through?!

Rhys looked at him for a moment before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. "I suppose I deserved that one," he admitted. 

Azriel just grunted, his expression flat. "You deserved a lot more than that," he muttered. But there was no real anger in his voice. He was too tired for anger at Rhys. All he cared about right now was Irena. 

“You really are a perfect match,” Rhys said with some amusement. “And I do owe Azriel an apology,” he said simply. "I’ve been harsh on you, Azriel. And I haven’t been fair. I’ve been treating you like a tool, instead of like a brother, and I owe you an apology for that.”

Azriel was taken aback by Rhys's words. He had grown used to the way Rhys treated him - as a weapon first, and a brother second. Hearing Rhys acknowledge his mistakes was…certainly unexpected, and it left him feeling a little off-balance.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to respond. Finally he looked up at Rhys, his expression serious. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I appreciate the apology."

Rhys nodded, his expression sincere. "I mean it," he said quietly. "I'll do better moving forward."

[velaris-fic-repository]

What the Tide Brings In (Part 6)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

“This is a bad idea.”

“Oh please, what are they going to do? Kill me?”

Azriel made a noncommittal face, more of an upset feline expression than anything else.

“Come off it. I’ve already seen this gorgeous and peaceful city in the heart of the big, bad Night Court,” you comically emphasized the weight of the previous words before moving on.

“You’re supposed to be the scariest one. And lo and behold, you’re naught but a big softy.” You reached over during the moonlit walk the two of you were taking to boop your finger on the tip of his nose. A wise choice? No, but he didn’t retaliate or move away. Victory.

“I’m not a softy,” Azriel protested, lightly swatting at your hand leaning in for another assault upon his nose.

“Mhmm.”

“I’m not!” His voice got louder in emphasis as his wings extended momentarily, puffing himself up to look broader and more intimidating. Too bad you’ve already seen the heart of him. His childish response didn’t help either.

“Whatever you say, shadowsinger.” You surveyed him then said, more seriously, “Are you sure you’re alright introducing me? We don’t have to if you don’t want.”

You were incredibly interested to meet his family, the quartet you’ve heard so much yet so little about. It truthfully had nothing to do with their stations as leaders of the Night Court. These people were important to Azriel, and you wanted to meet them. But, if he wasn’t ready to share them with you, that was fine.

Unbeknownst to you, it had more to do with Azriel not wanting to share you with them.

He sighed in soft defeat. “No, no. They want to meet you too. Honestly, if we don’t do this now I’m sure they’ll find ways to orchestrate an accidental bumping into you.”

His shadows - who had slowly started seeping into the world until it felt like they’d always been there - shifted on his shoulders, reaching out towards you until one twined around your finger.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you chuckled, playing with a shadow for a bit until it disappeared with the rest of its ilk.

“Busybodies, the lot of them.”

You snickered, “isn’t being a busybody, your entire job?”

Azriel looked at you, surprising you by snorting back, a small smile unsuccessfully suppressed. The laugh was undignified, boyish. His hazel eyes glittered in a way that twisted your heart.

“Unfortunately,” he sighed wistfully, “they’re going to love you.”

While your magic connected you to the wind and you lived by it on any ship you’ve ever sailed on, you have never been fully at the mercy of it. You always had the waves and current or the ground beneath you as a secondary element.

Sailing was in your blood. A free feeling that you had fought against your fear for and happily had returned to you. There was still a hollow, dread soaked feeling in your stomach when you spent too much time remembering the fateful expedition that brought you to Velaris, but you could step on a deck without fear and finally feel the sea breeze on your face again.

Flying was something else entirely, as you found out. Nothing but air currents whipping around you as you floated high above the glittering jewel that was Velaris.

A soft, “wow,” escaped you as you took it all in. Azriel’s low chuckle was right next to your ear, making it very hard for you to keep your reactions to yourself.

“I thought you would like it.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Better than sailing?” He teased as you felt his wingbeats and momentum start to slow down, the mountain House of Wind coming into view.

“You wish,” you teased back, earning you another laugh as the two of you landed.

You had another comment on the tip of your tongue, stalled by a male voice saying, “Finally, I thought you’d never get here! We’re starving!”

“Welcome,” Azriel quipped, shifting slightly into the quieter version of himself from when you met him. He was still at ease though, if not a little tense in the shoulders. Peaceful, just different, and maybe a touch nervous for this evening for obvious reasons.

You found yourself shocked to notice the little details, knowing exactly what each little piece meant. Then you remembered that golden little thread in your chest, still feeling nothing from the other side. He always seemed a little more relaxed when it was just the two of you.

You really had to stop looking at that. The bond would reveal itself to him in time, if he chose to accept it. His friendship was plenty, you thought. If you were deluding yourself, that was between you and The Cauldron. It’s not like you’ve lost sleep over it or anything. (Sure).

Introductions were easily made as dinner appeared before you all on the table. You had taken the seat next to Azriel, of course, but it was a humorous little race between Mor and Cassian for the other seat beside you. Ultimately, Mor won out, leaving Cassian to sit mildly uncomfortably next to Amren, Rhysand on her other side by Azriel.

“So this is the female we’ve heard so much about” Rhysand teased, a grumble elicited from Azriel.

You smiled though, “A pleasure to meet you all. You have a lovely home and city, if you don’t mind me saying, High Lord.”

“Rhys is fine,” he insisted, “and thank you. Your love of the harbor is very well known.”

“I meant the whole thing, but yes,” you chuckled, “the harbor is my favorite.”

Rhys grinned at you, violet eyes twinkling in that star like quality they seemed to have. “Azriel tells me you used to be a pirate?”

“Yup!” You said, “Hat and everything. Though I did lose the hat somewhere along the way.”

The conversation drifted by easily like this, you answering questions, offering questions of your own. Amren was curious about the finest thing your crew had ever stolen.

“We preferred to think of ourselves as privateers of the people. We didn’t really steal pretty things for ourselves, mostly food, clothes and money for fae who needed them more than those who hoarded them. That being said, we did have a few less than altruistic excursions.”

“Tell us more, please,” Mor said excitedly beside you.

“I think I’ll keep some of those stories to myself. Can’t give all my good ones away at the beginning, right?”

Azriel’s lips twitched up into a smirk, only causing your smile to grow brighter.

“You’re from Summer, you said?” Mor asked.

“Yes.”

“We have an interesting relationship with that court.”

“Please do elaborate,” you snickered.

Mor laughed with you, “Cassian got himself banned for life for knocking down a building in Adriata.”

You stilled, eyes flicking up to Cassian who shifted in his seat.

“That was you?” You asked, eyes still wide.

“…yeah.”

The whole table was silent, fearful, Azriel most of all. You’d never talked about that with him. He’d never thought to ask about it. What if you had people who had lived or worked out of that building. He’s sure it had been rebuilt but obviously it was a significant event if the ban had not been lifted. None of the Inner Circle was really sure what the extent of the damage was as Nostros had not given them a detailed reporting when it happened.

Azriel, not for the first time in knowing you but definitely the most serious case, had absolutely no idea how you would react to this information. All he could do was wait and hope he didn’t have to intervene in the next few heartbeats.

You raised a hand to your mouth, eyes still wide on Cassian and just sat there for a moment. Power thrummed throughout the room, every member present waiting to unleash something if the situation turned south.

But then, they heard a small snort. Followed immediately by a crescendo of laughter, louder and louder until your hand left your mouth and they all saw the blinding smile on your face.

Azriel was bewildered but found a smile on his own face in response to yours, as if your joy was his.

“You’re not… mad or something?” Cassian said tentatively.

“Are you kidding?” You asked between laughs, “That was one of the best weeks of our career!”

“Really?”

You finally tamed your laughter, smile still blinding like the Summer sun. “You have never seen a group of self-righteous nobles turn such a shade of purple! It was amazing!”

Rhys, happy to not have a brawl in his dining room, sent you an amused but authoritative expression. “It was an Inter-court incident.”

You leveled a roguish expression back at him, “No one got hurt! And I raise you, High Lord, as a Summer and Adriata native, those nobles were pricks preying on their people and they deserved whatever money and belongings they lost.”

Azriel snorted while Cassian joined you in your humorous hysterics, the whole table falling back into its easy rhythm from before.

Unsure what prompted it, Azriel reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it once. Oddly, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of it.

You pointed with your other hand at Cassian, “I think you and I are going to be friends.” He grinned, nodding.

“Do you ever miss Summer?” Cassian asked with a smirk, “and you don’t have to kiss our asses about it.”

“The scenery? Yeah. The people? No. I think I’d be hunted down if I went back, they hate me over there. Or at least those I’m charge do.” You paused, looking over at Azriel with a soft smile, “I’ve never felt more welcomed than I’ve been here.”

“Glad to hear our Spymaster has made a new resident feel at home,” Rhys said, clearly a brotherly barb tossed Azriel’s way. In answer, Azriel huffed, but said nothing, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Do you mind me asking about your family?” Mor asked. You smiled and shook your head.

“We weren’t really all that close. They didn’t approve of my swashbuckling, wild child behavior and then my chosen career path. So, we hadn’t been in contact for a while.” Mor and you shared a sympathetic look, your familial relationships not the same, but featuring echoes of some of what the other experienced.

You continued, “I suppose, like you guys, I found family other places.”

“In your crew?” Amren prompted.

“Yeah,” you answered and then stopped. For the first time since being here, you thought about them. Really stopped and thought about them. Maybe you had been mentally avoiding the topic to protect yourself, to keep the darkness at the edges of your mind at bay. There had been a lot of distractions to put between yourself and those names, those faces. No such distraction existed now, not when asked directly about them.

Sorley’s strong arms. Aviva’s smile. Auri’s boisterous laugh. Petra’s kind, wise eyes.

All of them battered and lost to the depths. Just you now. All alone.

What did you have that they didn’t? Why were you still here when they didn’t make it? Did you really deserve survival more than them?

Azriel watched your face fall, a darkness he had seen before settling back into you. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles again to soothe you. He looked up, locking eyes with Rhys. There was a surprised and sorrowful look on his face as he looked between you and Azriel. It was all Azriel needed to know that his brother had seen inside your head. It didn’t appear like a fun place to be right now.

Azriel waited for Rhys to share mentally with him what he had seen. He wasn’t asking for the whole story, Az would never want to breach your privacy. But, he’d have been lying if he said he wouldn’t have at least liked a comment from Rhys, to give him an inkling of what you were dealing with. Rhys would never infringe on the privacy of a friend using his abilities, but if someone needed help… But he didn’t.

Rhys swallowed and cleared his throat, breaking you from the treacherous depths of your mind that he had seen. Someone would have to teach you about shielding but that would be a conversation for a different time. No one else could save you from the darkness of your own mind, but he could offer you a distraction at least while you figured it out or worked up the courage to ask for help. You were important to Azriel, that made you important to everyone else at that table.

“Your reputation around the ships really does precede you,” Rhys started.

“Thank you,” you said, returning to yourself.

“Our current Harbormaster is very old, even for us. He’s expressed interest in retiring from his duties. You seem more than qualified for the job, and you have the respect of everyone who’s stepped foot in the port. Not an insignificant feat for only being here a few months.”

You smirked, “What are you suggesting, Rhysand?”

A smile wormed onto Rhys’s face, “How would you feel about taking over as Harbormaster of Velaris.”

“I didn’t realize this was a business meeting,” you joked, “had I known I would have dressed better.”

Azriel, glad at least to see you smiling again, said with a fond eye roll, “no you wouldn’t have. You’re still a pirate in your bones.”

“Damn straight I am! But,” you said, bowing your head slightly in Rhys’s direction, “I promise everything I do will be above board should you put me in this position.”

Rhys smiled, looking down at your hand still held in Azriel’s, “I have no doubt. And if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Welcome to the family,” Cassian joked, “Azzie doesn’t make new friends often.”

“Guess I’m special,” you said, theatrically putting on airs to the humor of everyone assembled.

As laughter filtered back into the table, Azriel’s hand did not stray from yours, his attention almost solely on you all evening.

Special indeed, he mused.

I’ve had this done for a minute life just had me forgetting about it, hope you enjoyed! I think there are two or three of these left depending on how I split it up! Let me know what you think and as always if ya wanna join the taglist, just say so!

Series Taglist: @rcarbo1 @shylahstarzz @tele86 @bubybubsters @willowpains @breemitch15 @96jnie @polli05927 @starsidesigh @i-am-infinite @ashjade19 @lilah-asteria

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I'm curious about your thoughts about the OB cards. Personally I was REALLY hoping they weren't actually gonna happen because they overblots are supposed to be like super strong and they can't really do that without breaking the game because most things would be too easy or balancing it out which would make everything too hard for people who don't have the cards. So they’ll probably be weaker and it’s just a personal pet peeve of mine when strong bosses are weaker when they’re playable.

Also I know the characters that do overblot are like coming to terms with that or something (I would assume anyways I play on the English server) but it rubs me the wrong way that they're making cards of what's literally the characters trauma incarnated into really strong versions of themselves. Like maybe I'm overthinking it but even with everything with the Vil in book 7 I still think it's weird to let the form he takes from having a mental breakdown after almost killing someone be playable??? Though most people don’t seem to agree with this so maybe I am overthinking it lol

[Referencing this news!]

While I understand the frustration with watering down what are meant to be powerful people in canon and/or balancing new battle content around the more recent cards, power creep nothing new for these types of mobile gacha games, or even for Twst itself. For example, Malleus is canonically one of the top 5 strongest mages in all of Twisted Wonderland, but it's not as though all of the Malleus cards are OP to reflect this lore. As another example, events will often grant an item drop boost or a status buff to the limited time banner characters as a means of incentivizing you to pull for them. I find this particular egregious for the recently introduced Arcane Combat Drills/Magic Assault Practice events, which feature progressively arduous battle maps and are made easier if you happen to pull the featured staff SSR. The devs cannot just drop an OP character that will break the game (even if they would canonically) to maintain balance and keep the game fun for players. I honestly don't think power creep is a huge issue with Twst. It happens, certainly--but it's not as bad as other games I've seen. Cards now considered "old" are still considered good today (Dorm Uniform Trey is still a great healer, it took several years for someone else to topple Dorm Uniform Riddle in terms of highest attack stat; even then, Riddle is excellent for offense, etc.). Older cards also introduced new buffs and debuffs which enhance battle complexity and potential strategies. For example, there was previously NO way to stop the enemies from healing... until Dorm Uniform Vil was introduced. He was the first card to have Curse, which applies a debuff that prevents the enemies from healing for a set number of turns. Since then, other similar additions have been made to tweak combat.

This is a spoiler for EN only players (though it sounds like you saw the Malleus OB card preview/JP server content, so I'll assume it's safe to spoil you), but the OB forms end up being framed differently (more heroically) later in book 7. It's not a clear-cut case of Twst glamourizing poor mental health and trying to sell it to us. Overblots are, of course, initially presented as the characters' trauma made manifest, at their lowest points and succumbing to their inner darkness--and they still are. However, in the dream world of book 7 (plus some hacks + cheat tool support from Idia), the OB boys are able to assume their OB forms and use these to combat Malleus. The OB forms are referred to as the "strongest versions of themselves", and they even portray the shift from their normal forms to OB sort of like magical girl transformations. In this case, their lowest points ultimately become moments of triumph, as they all manage to confront that "darkness", embrace it, and then tame that power for themselves. (To be clear: they can't OB at will in reality or control their own OBs in reality; it's only possible in the confines of the dreamspace.) The narrative around the OBs is retooled to be empowering and a symbol of how far each of them has come rather than staying static as something to be ashamed of. The idea seems to be promoting acceptance of the past but also learning to grow from it. I don't see an issue with this. Even without this particular context, I don't think I would see an issue? Many of the characters have done very questionable things even outside of OB (Leona tries to sand Ruggie, Riddle attacks Ace with rose trees in an attempt to literally behead him, Vil tries to poison Neige, etc.), but there aren't protests about those character variants (Dorm Uniforms, School Uniforms, etc.) being playable. Twst is a game centering on Disney villains, so there's for sure going to be dubious actions being carried out and dubious morals on display.

I hope this helps to ease your worries or at least provides you with a different perspective ^^

[thegeminisage]

THE OSSUARY [MASTERPOST]

this is a fic i wrote novelizing lucanis's year in the ossuary. now that it is 100% complete, i wanted to make a masterpost of relevant links that i can add to if i ever make anything else for it. scroll all the way to the bottom for the dvd special features!

SUMMARY:

ossuary (ˈäSHəˌwerē) noun 1. a container or room in which the bones of dead people are placed. 2. the final resting place of skeletal remains. Thought dead by his family, Lucanis Dellamorte, the infamous Demon of Vyrantium, spends over three hundred days languishing in an impenetrable Tevene prison at the bottom of the sea. But he doesn't do it alone—and like it or not, his new demonic cellmate may be his only hope of escape. Sometimes the only way to fight your demons is to make a deal instead.

TAGS + WARNINGS:

Action Scenes, Blood and Gore, Blood Magic, Kidnapping, Captivity, Imprisonment, Demisexual Lucanis Dellamorte, Angst, Starvation, Force-Feeding, Trauma, Possession, Body Horror, Torture, Nightmares, Psychological Torture, Mind Games, Rape (fades to black), Suicide, Trauma Bonding, and a TEENSY bit of vore. don't judge me.

CHAPTER LISTING:

ACT I

CHAPTER I: THE TRAP [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

Lucanis catches one final glimpse of the starry sky overhead. Sorry, Illario, he thinks. Then everything goes black.

CHAPTER II: THE EXPERIMENT [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

"My staff tells me you're hungry," says Zara. "Would you like something to eat?"

CHAPTER III: THE POSSESSION [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

"Hold him!" Zara snarls. "Shove it down his throat yourself if you have to! He's one half-starved prisoner! How hard can it be?"

ACT II

CHAPTER IV: THE DEMON [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

The demon's favorite thing to do is demand that Lucanis kill people or leave his cell. Its second favorite thing to do is piss Lucanis off.

CHAPTER V: THE TABLE [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

Calivan is wearing gauntlets. "Open wide," he says, and brings the pliers down towards Lucanis's face.

CHAPTER VI: THE LOVER [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

"Can I tell you a secret?" Lucanis asks Nyrys one night. "You must promise not to tell a soul."

ACT III

CHAPTER VII: THE DEAL [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

He is no longer Lucanis looking at Spite. He is Spite, looking at Lucanis.

CHAPTER VIII: THE PLAN [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

"Hey," says Lucanis to Spite. "You can fly, right?"

CHAPTER IX: THE ESCAPE [ao3 link] [tumblr post]

Blood begins to trickle from the corner of Calivan's mouth. "Walk out if you like, Lucanis. You'll never be free."

EXTRAS:

"soundtrack" post - a list of all the songs i listened to during the writing/editing process

zara & lucanis meta - a mini-analysis of the assault scene end of chapter 6, most of it being about zara's character (tw for in-depth discussion of rape)

where is the ossuary? - meta about the conflicting information we get on the ossuary's location

blood magic meta - just thinking aloud, trying to work out the mechanics of how lucanis and spite are bound

lucanis's scars - he's got quite a lot of them near his mouth, hiding under the facial hair...in my mind palace, this is definitely from the gauntlets they used to force his mouth open when feeding him the thing that bound him to spite.

lucanis's prison clothes - a video of the "sea of blood" mission with lucanis in prison clothes, instead of looking clean and well-dressed. also includes a look at the real nyrys's cell and at the artifact he's gonna break later.

the desperation demon - video of lucanis meeting and recognizing the desperation demon in dock town.

#the ossuary fic - story tag on tumblr for rough drafts, liveblogging, inspo posts, etc

#SHORNCANIS - a tag for images and videos of what lucanis looked like pre-ossuary, as the ossuary is where he grew out the beard

#rook tag - just a tag for posts and images of my rook, who is introduced in the final chapter of this fic

🎉 I AM WORKING ON A SEQUEL! 🎉

it will be a long time before i'm finished, but in the meantime, you can see excerpts in the #untitled rookanis fic tag.

thank you to my editors, @viagothots and @slaygentford, thank you to everyone who read, commented, and reblogged this fic, and thank you to everyone patiently waiting on and getting excited with me about the sequel. i am more grateful than words can say <3

[civilotterneer]

Xaphar the Blue Dragon

Xaphar is a 26 year old blue dragon. He is a felon who works as a welder, and is trying to get through life without letting his anger get the best of him.

Being a blue dragon, Xaphar retains a lot of his draconic abilities, including his original dragon form (coming soon!), access to lightning abilities, and more natural abilities dragon's are capable of. Dragons are capable of turning into a more useful form similar to the other species that live on Earth in the Otterneer-verse, which you can see here, and that Xaph spends most of his time in.

Xaph has had a bit of a hard time at life. After finishing high school, Xaph was involved in accidentally assaulting someone due to his anger issues. After accidentally using his natural lightning abilities, he was sentenced to a year in prison for assault with a deadly weapon (which natural magics count as).

After getting out, he's done his best to improve his image, and found work with a local welder. While he never fixed his anger issues, and is generally thought to be a sour person sometimes, he's improved his life and secured a reasonable career for himself. In between useful welding projects that makes his company money, he uses his well-trained lightning breath to make metal art, adding lichtenburg marks and a touch of draconic flare.

He doesn't intend to be a mean person, it's just not difficult to set him off and see his harsh side. Behind that, he's actually kinda a softy and a hard-ass, the kind that enjoys small kittens but also rides a motorcycle (which he does ride a motorcycle).

I'll be doing a small comic better introducing him soon, and giving yall a better taste of his personality. In the meantime, enjoy these early renders of him! Also sorry for keeping him behind a closed door for so long, I thought I'd be done with the Baldur's Gate 3 stuff sooner, but alas I'll give him a showing now.

[nilfgaardianleviosa]

PAIRING: Dark!Levi Ackerman/f!Reader

TAGS: magic AU, angst, betrayal, pining, enemies to lovers, sexual content, character death, choose your own ending

SUMMARY: The Archmage has sent you to infiltrate a dangerous necromancy cult, an opportunity to prove your dedication to the Mages Guild. But in the depths of the Order’s lair, you encounter someone you never expected: the mage who has haunted your thoughts and dreams for years.

He’s not the man you once knew, and he forces you to make a choice—forsake your morals for a beloved mentor turned enemy, or find the strength to fight him to the death.

A/N: Reposting this story bc my first attempt at formatting it on tumblr was shite. I'm learning new things, hooray!

[AO3 Link]

Full story below the cut!

Fithragaer, the only surviving Battlemage, was dead.

The sound of stone grinding against stone assaulted your ears as the floor descended from the dungeon’s ceiling. The elf’s body lay there, head smashed in and fancy armor demolished in a crumpled pile. Your encounter with him had been incredibly brief. One moment he was introducing himself and explaining your dire straights, the next he was leading the charge right into a deadly trap.

A few mindless skeletons carrying rusted swords ran towards you from across the room, but as soon as they stepped foot on the trap floor, it rocketed upwards again, and with a satisfying crunch it felled the enemies on your behalf.

Guess you should probably go around.

The lair was filled with necromancers, all on high alert. You entered room after room, avoiding more traps and using magic to fight off the guild-less mages and their undead creatures and dark, ghostly summons. Fithragaer was right, someone had warned them you were coming, although it was unclear who.

The elven Battlemage had been sent by the Council of Mages to kill Mucianus Allias, a spy within the necromancy cult. You, on the other hand, an Evoker of the Mages Guild, had been sent by special request of Archmage Traven to make sure Mucianus was alive; Traven hadn’t been so quick to assume that a lack of correspondence meant Mucianus had turned traitor.

This was the first time the Archmage had sent you on a personal quest, and you were determined not to let him down. You had worked incredibly hard over the years, completing quests for every city’s guild hall in order to earn enough recommendations to be granted access to the Arcane University. Now you were making your way up the ladder, and perhaps you would be given a higher rank upon your success here today. Magician, they would call you. A bit silly of a title, but its stature certainly held more meaning than Evoker.

The search for Mucianus proved fruitless up until you reached a set of carved stone doors at the end of the dungeon. Doors like these typically indicated a stronger being was lying in wait behind them, so you conjured a superior set of Bound Armor—a red and black Daedric set, as all the bound weapons appeared—and summoned a skeletal guardian to fight by your side.

You took a moment to smile at its boney face, reminded of how ironically similar the magic of conjuration was to necromancy. The two schools of magic were clearly very related, and the lines between them often blurred. Yes, you could summon creatures from the dead and command followers of the Daedric Prince of Darkness and Destruction, but at least you weren’t binding the souls of people to dead bodies for your own selfish gain.

Feeling well-prepared for the final encounter, you pushed the heavy stone door open to reveal the main hall. It was a huge room with a high ceiling, and there was a single lit chandelier in the center, lit by magical green flames. At the far end, bracketed by magical torches, stood an altar stained in blood.

Stilling your nerves, you walked inside. It was eerily quiet, nothing like with the chatty necromancers in all the other chambers. But once you had made it to the center of the hall, a voice rang out.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

The sound of boot heels against the floor echoed through the darkness, and your eyes darted around, searching for their origin. The voice sounded so eerily familiar that the back of your neck began to prickle with unease.

A hooded figure stepped out from the darkness, wearing a dark purple cloak with swirling golden accents that glimmered in the flickering torchlight. He was carrying a golden staff that was nearly a head taller than him. The top of it split into a double-headed snake, each with long, sinister fangs and glowing red eyes.

Another necromancer, but one of much higher caliber than those you had defeated on your quest to find Mucianus.

You mentally ordered your skeleton to hold its attack and called out to the figure. “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer your question. “Out of all the mages to become one of Traven’s lapdogs, I never expected you to volunteer for the position.”

That voice. It was nagging at your subconscious, and now he was claiming to know you, but you couldn’t let your guard down. Necromancers were conniving.

You took a step back and lit your hands with magical flames. “Answer me now. Or I won’t hesitate to attack.”

He chuckled lowly. “Would you really hurt an old friend?”

Old friend?

The stranger reached up to pull his hood back, and the shadow over his face retreated to reveal black hair, pale skin, and a face you had long ago given up hope of ever seeing again.

It was Levi. The former Warlock of your guild hall in Chorrol. An incredibly powerful mage who had spent countless hours beating the art of conjuring into your head. Despite him never officially taking you on as an apprentice, you had once thought of him as a master. That is, until he broke away from the guild without any explanation, leaving you behind and forcing you to overcome torrential feelings of loss and betrayal.

After all these years you had never forgiven him for not offering a reason for his departure, for not even giving you a way of knowing he was alive. And now here he was, standing in front of you.

“Levi…”

He tilted his head and smiled, a fond smile that filled you with melancholy. “Hello, little apprentice.”

“What—what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Traven sent you here to retrieve the spy, right?”

He knew about Mucianus. But how?

In your deepest hopes you wanted it to mean that Levi was on your side, that perhaps he had been informed of the mission by Archmage Traven because he was also a double agent.

But you could not risk pinning everything on such naive fantasies. Not when Levi had yet to come running to you, apologizing for all the grief he had caused. Not when he was this comfortably deep in a hideout of the Order of the Black Worm.

“What are you talking about?” you asked warily.

He smirked, eyes darkening. Then he raised a hand to the side and beckoned into the darkness. A low moaning came from the archway nearby, and soon your worst fears were realized as a zombie shambled into the dim light.

“Here he is,” said Levi, amused. “He’s been reborn, as a worm thrall.”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Mucianus, a high-level mage, turned into nothing but some sort of walking dead. It was an abomination. How could this have happened to him? Who could have—

No.

You snapped your head towards Levi, fire blazing hotter in your widened palms. “Did you do this?”

He was calm in the face of your accusation. “Is the picture becoming clear, now?”

“No, tell me you haven’t joined them.”

“That I have, mageling.”

Mageling. A patronizing nickname given to you by Levi back at the guild hall. You would have never put up with it from anyone but him. But now it was clear he had joined the necromancers, betrayed you in every way possible, which meant he no longer had any right to be so familiar. This man wasn’t the one you had known so intimately before.

“How could you?”

Magical flames blazed as hot as your inner fury, and you conjured a fireball between both hands, firing it at him. Levi erected a magical barrier just in time to block it, and a burst of fire exploded against the invisible shield before dissipating.

He raised his staff, snake heads high above his head, as a glowing red orb grew from their center. Then a bolt of crackling energy sliced through the air, heading straight towards you. You rolled away quickly enough to avoid being struck, only for it to totally annihilate your skeleton, sending bones flying in all directions.

You gaped at the space where it had stood. That wasn’t a low-level skeleton, it was a guardian. And Levi had just destroyed it in one hit.

A near crippling fear filled your stomach, but the hum of Levi’s staff snapped you out of it. You stayed on the move, skirting around the room as his spells crackled and spat beams of red lightning at your heels.

Instead of just letting him fire at you, you conjured smaller, one-handed fireballs and hucked them in his direction, forcing him on the defense. His icy blue gaze calmly followed you, but then you broke his sightline by hiding behind a pillar, using what you knew would only be a brief moment to collect yourself.

Levi, a necromancer! How could this have happened? He hadn’t even given you time to think, much less process this grave news. Right now, all you could focus on was the fight.

You had put a lot of power behind those attacks, but he’d hardly looked affected by them, which didn’t bode well at all. Levi had already been a much more powerful mage than you at the guild hall—an expert conjurer who had likely now mastered the art. You had grown many times over since then and were quite capable of outsmarting more powerful mages, but you had no idea what he was capable of now as a necromancer.

“Why are you hiding?” called Levi. “Are you scared of me?”

You didn’t answer, trying to focus on devising a plan despite your thoughts raging like whirlwinds, but then Levi’s taunting voice interrupted again.

“You really should keep moving.”

An eerie cacophony of creaking resounded around the previously quiet hall, and then a horde of skeletons emerged from the darkness in front of you, like they had been waiting there for his order to attack. As you stood in horror, one of them threw a giant axe at your head, catching in the stone pillar right next to your cheek.

Holy fuck. A centimeter closer and you would have been dead.

Still no time to think. The rest were now running at you with swords and maces, and you were forced to follow Levi’s advice and stay on the move. Anticipating his plan to deprive you of cover, you ducked out from behind the pillar and pivoted to throw up a shield.

But Levi was too fast. A bolt of lightning struck your shoulder, piercing through your bound armor enough to sear flesh. You cried out in pain, but you forced your eyes to stay open and alert.

The armored skeletons were now hot on your heels, bones creaking and teeth chattering, and you redirected your focus from the pain in order to start running again. The skeletons looked weak, but there were too many of them to stand against outright, and you knew Levi would never conjure something that couldn’t swiftly bring your death.

You swapped spells as you ran, casting your highest-level Turn Undead spell on as many skeletons as you could. Thank the Gods it was successful. All of them ran off but four, and without enough magicka to turn them you swapped to a low-effort cold spell, blasting ice over your shoulder to freeze their feet to the floor.

“Very good,” said Levi, still standing comfortably at the center of the room.

You ducked behind another pillar and took the opportunity to down a blue magicka potion, throwing the bottle to the ground and immediately summoning a flame atronach. The portal swirled in the air, and a fiery creature covered in armor stepped out.

No time to admire your summon, you mentally gave it the order to attack, and it set off for Levi, winding its arms back to lob endless amounts of fireballs at him. You heard him chuckle as he easily blocked the attacks; this was certainly small fry for him, but you had only intended to distract him enough to sink an arrow into his chest.

Staying on alert in case of more undead minions, you conjured a bound bow and waited until Levi began to cast spells back at the atronach. Hoping he was thoroughly occupied, you stepped out from behind the pillar, drawing a magical arrow and aiming it at him. His focus immediately moved to you, but he was in the middle of blocking an incoming fireball with his staff, so you let the arrow fly, knocking another one to follow right after it.

The first one pierced his shoulder, making him stumble back in pain, but he maintained enough concentration to conjure a shield just in time to block the second one. In return, he raised his staff and summoned a gloom wraith, a ghastly floating creature, which began casting nasty spells at your atronach, drawing its attention away to defending itself. It gave Levi the perfect opportunity to turn to you.

As soon as his furious eyes met yours again, you were filled with life-preserving fear, and you ducked back, realizing that you were going to have to think of another plan very quickly. You could at least try to distract him with conversation while you thought.

The two minions were making quite a ruckus with their fighting, so you shouted over them. “Why are you doing this, Levi?”

He was silent for a moment. “I selected the path that fit me best. Just as you chose the Guild, I chose the Order.”

“The Order is nothing but scum. They manipulate souls for their own gain!”

“You sound very hypocritical. How many necromancers did you kill to make it here? Did the guild ever tell you to stay your hand against them?”

“That’s different. Self defense. You’re binding souls against their will.”

“Is that the worst of it, mageling?”

You gritted your teeth in silence. Clearly you weren’t getting to him. You could feel your drained magicka return just barely enough for another summon spell. The atronach was starting to lose the fight against the wraith. There wasn’t any time left to think. You would have to work with your current resources.

You lifted your hands to cast another spell, but then a set of fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist, jerking your arm back. The spell fizzled in the air, and you turned in surprise to see Levi standing next to you. He hadn’t been anywhere near you a moment ago, how the hell did he get there so fast? He couldn’t have—

A crackle of red sparked in his palm, and not a second later your whole body was swathed in electricity. Levi watched with half-lidded eyes as you went rigid in his grasp, your face contorting in pain.

Then, quite mercifully, he stopped.

As soon as the magic holding your body upright was gone, your head swam and your legs gave out. Levi caught you around the waist, and you came to only a few moments later, finding yourself looking up into the eyes of your former teacher.

You were aghast to notice that he didn’t look a day older than the last time you had seen him. Those stark blue eyes, wisened through years of studying the magical arts, were still there, too. He was holding you, gazing at you. Like you were a lost puppy he had found on the road.

For a moment it felt like you were back at the guild’s training grounds, just another day of being bested by Levi in mock combat. Except now you were experiencing a certain type of closeness that you had ached for but never received.

But then something sparked in his eyes, different from before—sinister and hungry—and you realized that the window into Levi’s seemingly boundless knowledge had been darkened by the evil magic to which he had fallen. The good mage you once knew was no longer staring back.

There was nothing left to long for, and you couldn’t stand to be in his arms.

“Get off.” You cast Burning Touch and shoved your hands against his chest, fire lighting from your fingertips.

Despite his likely very magic-resistant mage robes, he let out a hiss and dropped you onto the unforgiving stone floor. You winced and scrambled backwards, keeping an eye on him as you got to your feet. He swiped the remaining flames from his robe with a look of disgust. That was one thing about Levi, he was always a perfectionist when it came to being clean.

He raised a hand at you, and you cast a powerful block spell in response, but it wasn’t anywhere near strong enough. Levi’s power immediately overwhelmed yours, severe and all-encompassing, and then your whole body was rendered immobile by paralysis.

That spell was unfathomably strong. Never had you experienced such power. You imagined this was what fighting an archmage might have felt like, but Levi couldn’t have possibly been at that level yet… Except, he had teleported to you earlier.

Had he been holding back on you this entire fight?

“That one won’t last long.” He snapped his fingers, conjuring something behind you, and a pair of armored demonic hands grabbed your wrists and pulled them behind your back. A dremora? Summoned so quickly with just the snap of his fingers? That settled it. Levi’s power had truly grown beyond your comprehension.

“That was fun,” said Levi, pulling your magic arrow out of his shoulder and tossing it away as he walked toward you. “You’re more powerful than I remember, but you’re still weak.”

“Let me go,” you shouted, wishing you could at least put up a struggle.

Levi stopped in front of you reached a hand toward your face. The paralysis spell held you still as his cold fingers brushed across your cheek, a gentle caress that made your heart race. He gazed at you silently, curiously, as if he were a lover taking in your beauty. But then he gripped your face tightly, fingers digging into your cheek as he casted a Drain Life spell. You gritted your teeth in pain, and Levi breathed deeply as your health transferred to him, healing the arrow wound in his shoulder.

“Bastard..!”

He pulled his hand away, examining you as you panted from exertion. Fighting had tired you out, and having your life force drained left you feeling incredibly weak.

“I never expected to see you again,” he mused. “Could this be fate, you think?”

“Fate? What are you talking about? Good fortune doesn’t come to traitors.”

He frowned. “I’m no traitor. The guild betrayed me when the council refused to listen to reason, so I made the choice to leave.”

“What reason? You joined a cult, Levi.”

“Cult?” he repeated. “Do you think so low of me? So little of the Order?”

“Of course I do. Your ‘Order’ has done nothing but threaten the guild for years. You and I fought against them, remember? Back when you were sane? You called them stupid necromancers, said they had lost their minds, that mastering conjuration should be enough for anyone seeking to become powerful.”

His eyes betrayed his remembrance, but it didn’t seem to matter. “I was wrong, because I did master it, and I still wasn’t strong enough. Just look at you: you’ve risen through the ranks enough for Traven to send you searching for his dirty little spy. And yet you’re so weak that I could kill you without a second thought.”

In that moment, the paralysis spell ended, but the daedra’s grip on your wrists didn’t relax. You struggled against it anyway. “Who cares if you can kill me? You told me before that you wanted to help people. That the Order was a blight on Cyrodiil. What happened, Levi? You were good… I—I looked up to you.”

He clicked his tongue, expression turned pitying. “I know you did, mageling.”

The nickname made your heart hurt, like a spell meant to flood you with nostalgia. And flood you it did.

You couldn’t help but think back to the memories you shared. The time he demanded to join you on your most dangerous quest at the behest of your guild’s leadership. When he met you in the training yard and taught you new spells without you even asking. How often you broke bread and drank wine with him in the mess hall after many a perilous mission. The way his enigmatic eyes would stick to you in mere passing moments that seemed to last eons.

These memories were too fond to dig up again. You had buried them for a reason. It had been years of wondering where he had gone, of having no way to contact him, and it had left you with no choice but to try to forget.

You gritted your teeth. “Never call me that again.”

Levi smirked. “What? Bring up too many memories?”

“Don’t taunt me.”

“Are you thinking about what we had back then? Wondering why I left you behind?”

You stared at him, throat tightening enough to deprive you of words. His guesses were far too accurate, and you wondered if he could still see through you after all these years.

At that moment, your Bound Armor spell ended, Daedric metal dissipating. Levi stepped forward, smoothing out the wrinkles on your mage cloak that had been hidden underneath.

“Would you believe me if I told you that you weren’t ready? That I couldn’t bring myself to rip an apprentice away from their training? You were just a fledgling, too naive to possibly understand my reason for leaving.” He met your eyes, keeping a hand at your chest. “But now you’re seasoned. You’ve seen the true heart of the Mages Guild, and they see potential in you. As do I.”

Pride mixed with confusion at his praise—something that never came easily with Levi. He was a stern Warlock, unforgiving, always expecting nothing but greatness, and yet despite his cold nature you never lost the sense that he cared for you, that he yearned for your success as much as you did.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you said, tears stinging your eyes. “You’ve made us enemies.”

He stepped closer. “We don’t have to be enemies. You could join me. Together we could become the most powerful necromancers under Mannimarco. I could teach you more—become your master. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

It was. It truly was. But that desire couldn’t negate the sickness you felt at the thought of becoming an underling for a thousand-year-old evil lich. You opened your mouth to refuse, but then Levi leaned in and whispered in your ear.

“And, we could make up for all our years of separation.” His breath made goosebumps rise on your skin. “Did you not pine for me, in my absence?”

You shuddered at the sensations, at the heat of his body close to yours, and you lied, “At times, yes, but eventually I forgot about you.”

He hummed and reached up to caress your cheek, his voice entrancing. “I thought about you every day, my little apprentice. I thought about those big, curious eyes of yours, always looking to me for answers, and I remembered how much I loved to deprive you of them. Make you seek them out for yourself. It was always worth it to see the pride glowing on your face upon your own success.”

He pulled back, gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes, fingers curling around your chin. “I always wanted you to make your own decisions, and now is no different. You have a choice, mageling. You can choose to see that necromancy is just an extension of our power, and that I am no different than the man you knew in Chorrol. Or you and I can continue our battle. You can fight for your arbitrary sides of good and evil, and I will fight for my freedom to seek knowledge that others have deemed forbidden.”

A painful ultimatum. For someone who claimed to enjoy giving you free will, this wasn’t much of a choice. How could you choose between leaving everything you knew behind or fighting your beloved teacher to the death?

“You really won’t come back? The only way I can have you again is to follow you down this path?”

“That’s right,” he whispered, dark blue irises capturing yours. “Leave it all behind. Come with me. I’ll take care of you.”

This promise. An offer to join hands with him in life, go back to how things were before, and finally move beyond unspoken love. Could he be lying to persuade you? It was possible. But every instinct, every nerve buzzing at his closeness, told you this was real.

You could no longer justify resisting temptation.

“Kiss me. Please.”

All restraint eliminated by a few words, he closed the last few millimeters of space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a deep, intense kiss. The dremora behind you disappeared, freeing your hands to grasp Levi’s robes and pull yourself into him. His aura satiated something within you that had been forever starved, and you let yourself become consumed by it, lavishing in it, your heart swelling with a hope that nearly drowned out your rationality.

This moment was all you had ever wanted. Your love for him encompassed your whole being, and yet there was a brooding darkness surrounding you, the twisted reality of the world bearing upon your fates.

Was this the end? Your final embrace with the man who had occupied your thoughts for years?

There’s nothing left for us. I must put aside my feelings and do what must be done, for the Mages Guild. — Ending 1

He still means the world to me. Even if he has gone where I can never follow, I can’t bring myself to hurt him. — Ending 2

This must be a sign. If I don’t choose him now, I may never get the choice again. — Ending 3

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe I first encountered this supposed explanation in the comments section of a fanfiction, so it is to be taken with a grain of salt, but I read that Shiro's design was primarily based on what the showrunners thought "looked cool". This includes the prosthetic grafted onto his person by his captors, the scar across his face, and the shock of white fringe in his otherwise naturally dark hair. And, I won't lie, his design serves its purpose. Shiro immediately draws the eye, and not just because of his usual placement front and center in the standard team line up.

It's reasonable for the sort of space soldier, G.I. Joe type of character the staff intended Shiro to be to have these sorts of physical characteristics.

It's also completely reasonable in a Sci-Fi/Action show for a villain as menacing and ruthless as Sendak to have a similarly distinct, eye-catching design. Such features as a sinister, gleaming, red bionic eye, and massive prosthetic arm powered by a core of glowing, magical electric energy pulsing in a line from shoulder to forearm stand out, are easily memorable, and make him instantly recognizable as a really Bad Guy.

The idea of Shiro being a sort of "light, heroic mirror" to Sendak, which the show introduced and continued to attempt to enforce all the way up to Sendak's death, sits incredibly uneasily with me, however. As I've made explicit several times, before.

Content Warning for discussion of sexual assault/rape.

We're shown the recurrent imagery of Sendak looming over and behind an incapacitated Shiro.

Shiro's instinctive response to seeing Sendak heading toward him is to back away out of fear before steeling himself and resolving to fight, if only to protect the Castle and an unconscious Lance.

The very first thing that Shiro says to Sendak is, "You're not getting in", to which Sendak replies, "Yes. I am".

Coran suggests that the Galra might keep him and Hunk as, "some sort of creepy pet to play with how they please", in an appeal to Shay and Rax for assistance concealing their presence on the Balmera.

There's genuine contempt in Shiro's voice when he asks Sendak, "What do you want?", prior to his torture at Sendak's hands.

Sendak delivers a stomach-churning gloating little speech after torturing Shiro via electric shock.

And, Rolo refers to Sendak as a, "real nasty bugger", a term that has an exceptionally crude colloquial meaning.

Now, maybe I'm a cynical weirdo who is reading far too deeply into this, and connecting dots that aren't there. But...

Shiro bears a much stronger resemblance to Berserk's Guts than the Takashi Shirogane from the original Go Lion! that he's named after. Guts is a famous survivor of childhood sexual abuse, having been sold by his adoptive father and purchased for use as a sex slave by an ugly hulking pederast.

There were obvious Neon Genesis Evangelion fans working on this show, and Rei Ayanami, the character that Shiro's story seems to reference with the sheer excess of clones created using his DNA, is also a victim of sexual abuse.

(There's even, arguably, influence taken from The Legend of the Blue Wolves, a relatively obscure yaoi OVA largely set at a military facility which trains soldiers and pilots for combat missions in deep space. It features an extended scene with a virtual flight simulator, and one of the two male leads is-- wouldn't you know it? Raped by an ugly hulking monster.)

Correlation does not imply causation, and perhaps the similarities are entirely superficial, and we're not meant to think too hard about them.

Yet, with the amount of scrutiny that a series as utterly wholesome and innocuous as Bluey is constantly under, I cannot buy for a minute that a series Netflix gave a TV Y7 rating to didn't undergo some level of screening to ensure that its content was appropriate for the intended child audience. Someone had to have asked the staff if bugger was the term they meant to use, aware of the disturbing, far less than child-friendly implications, and was met with a resounding confirmation.

Beyond that, extended proximity to even an imprisoned and inanimate Sendak sends Shiro spiraling into a psychological break down.

Shiro's intensely traumatic experiences in captivity, which his brain seems to have largely repressed in order to protect him ("It's all a blur.") would, by themselves, be enough to convince him that he's been broken and reshaped into something monstrous. His bodily autonomy was, unquestionably, brutally violated, and his innately altruistic, self-sacrificing nature was violently challenged when he was forced to kill or be killed for his captors' entertainment. His right arm was taken from him and replaced with a weapon, and he has the blood of who knows just how many innocents on his hands. He was, indeed, broken down in an attempt to reform him into the Galra Empire's "greatest weapon", and likely very much wars with himself over what he had to do to ensure his own survival, believing himself to be a monster.

What really stands out to me, though, is that this intense, primal terror and the accompanying feelings of "brokenness" and "monstrousness" only surface around Sendak. Despite also being associated with and direct causes of his trauma, neither Haggar nor Zarkon rattle Shiro to his core the way Sendak does.

Neither of them are insistent on drilling into Shiro's head how "broken" he supposedly is, as Sendak is shown doing over and over again. Including taunting Shiro over the non-consensual modifications to his body.

Harboring a deep sense of shame, and viewing themselves as something dirty, ugly, disgusting, broken, or even monstrous is an experience common among survivors of sexual abuse.

Having Shiro's physical condition repeatedly mirror his personal tormentor's would be sick and twisted enough.

Adding the context of rape or sexual abuse to Shiro's torment makes the creative decision to intentionally model his arm after his abuser's outright sadistic.

No one deserves to have a constant physical reminder of their abuser and rapist permanently attached to their person. And, attempting to paint Shiro as a "heroic mirror" to Sendak fails entirely when Shiro doesn't so much as get to best Sendak in combat once.

All of the points you've raised about the function and structure of prosthetics are amazing, informative, and highly appreciated. (The comment about Shiro's abominable floating arm looking like it wouldn't be able to support the weight of a grocery bag makes me laugh.) Sadly, there's a faction of the fanbase who are all too quick to fetishize that arm, like everything else surface-level about Shiro. I've seen a number of fics where its ability to be propelled a great distance with a single thought is used to pleasure a partner while Shiro, himself, is in a different room, where the arm is equipped with a vibrating function for use as a sex toy, and, of course, where the thickness of its fingers is sexualized for... the same reason the bulge in the crotch of Shiro's pants is.

(I beg this fandom to stop reducing this man to a seme stereotype because of his physical build and height. Nothing in his personality suggests that he would be anything even approximating that cursed archetype. Let him be a pillow princess, for God's sake, like he deserves.)

This reply took me forever, and I am sincerely sorry about that. I hope you find something worthwhile in this haphazard collection of thoughts.

And, "Sendick" is how I'm going to be mentally referring to that creep from now on.

[kustas]

I'd love to hear your hashtag wha critical thoughts about recent developments if you feel like sharing them :)

I'll preface this with saying that for this answer I will not be making a distinction between my personal tastes and what is "objectively worst". The TLDR is I have felt like WHA's been dipping in quality since book 8 approximately.

One of WHA's strong points is its ongoing theme of accessibility, via its premise of how magic is purposefully restricted from people, and via its characters, mostly the kids, who showcase various life issues and allow the story to talk about how to solve them. Disability is an important one and was at the center of book 8, which is one of my favorites. You get to see Tartah and Coco work together for a goal (=making their friend a better mobility aid), and by doing so they brainstorm the why and then how which allows for complex notions to be carried out and explained to the reader. Cute story with touching implications that flows well. This quote in particular sums up so well what WHA is "about"

After this we transition rather brutally to the latest ongoing arc of the Silver Eve. This arc has been ongoing for years now, and three volumes, making it the longest so far, I'll come back to that, putting a star on it [*]. It delves further into aspects of accessibility the series had talked about before - access to magic, access to healthcare, and poverty. This is where this blog's namesake gets relevant. Custas is a kid who was already poor, who got badly wounded ending up disabled, and who because of that was stuck in a situation with no good endings: he can't make money in his state and needs money to get out of his state. On top of this gets added magic, and comes back the question at the center of WHA: Is it wrong to restrict the use of magic, and how?

After the arc is kickstarted by Custas getting his share of spilled beans of magical secrets revealed, enter immediatly strong players via ch.48's introduction of the Wise Ones and the king himself. The political aspect of how the world works was not mentioned before. Great chapter, interesting stuff all around, personally answered much of my questions. Immediatly after this chapter the focus in 49 fully switches to the Knights and their job, and the rest of the chapter is dedicated to a story of a sexual assault survivor and how she made it. It's a surprising topic to see pop up and it's handled with the respect it deserves. Chapter 50 goes back to Coco and her troubles. This concludes book 9 and...it makes for a Lot of stuff to deal with. Put a Second star on that. [**]

Addressing those stars before we move on:

[*] This arc is taking forever. WHA's arcs in earlier volumes only took a few chapters. This arc has taken three books thus far and I doubt we have reach its climax yet. I personally don't like it and it raises an issue the series did not have before: Will the payoff be worth it? Where it is worrying for the future of the series is that manga serialized regularly tend to up the stakes progressively until the end and it might...not work out.

[**] Too many things at once unresolved. This has already had consequences with the progressive vanishing of something WHA was once excellent at: sneakily introducing elements that get used a few arcs later in important ways. The manga has been, for a while now, accumulating unfinished plot threads via not answering the questions it opens and instead adding more and more characters. Jumping from a group of characters to another was not an issue beforehand because unlike this arc's, chapters took place at different times and/or in totally different places. The Silver Eve is both set in time AND place, making it hard to follow because all sideplot happen at once.

Book 10 continues to accumulate ongoing unresolved plots with: the royal family being shady, Agott's struggles irt. her mother, Dagda running around confused and tracked by the Knights, Custas and Ininia jumping Tartah and Coco, and Galga's accident + relationship.

Book 11 does the same adding Agott's crush on Coco, the actual festival, Jujy's inner troubles...Funnily enough, this page is a good summary of the ongoing mess.

Instead of solving all of this stuff we instead get stakes ramped up to 100 with the introduction of what I can only describe as a kaiju attack. As much as I love the horror and drama element, given what was already going on, this does NOT strike me as a good decision.

Now, we go back to the three latest chapters. These follow the same subplot: Custas' faction change and Coco's attempts to save him. This subplot has, to me, a whole lot of issues. Way earlier on in the story, even before Dagda's ambush, I had issues with how Custas was portrayed in relation to his anger, being drawn weirdly spooky for...a frustrated poor kid? Others have also pointed out it wasn't great to have one of your only dark skinned characters be a slum kid. Obviously given my handle on here, I am still a huge fan of the character. After chapter 45 (included), I already found it a bit tasteless to have so much horrors piled on him. WHA is a rather unsubtle series at time which I really, really dislike. Sure, makes it hard to miss the point, but when you're dealing with sensitive topics it can fall into touchy territory fast...

In the latest chapters, Coco appears to save Custas, the "how" part of her plan still being a mystery. Meanwhile, a timelooped and very confused Dagda looks for him, accompanied by Lulucy, who knows them both and is unaware of their ties with forbidden magic. She ends up telling him to abandon the faction he sided with by literally ripping off the brim of his hat with her magic. Meanwhile, Lulucy starts attacking him on sight. I have so, so so many issues with all of this.

Coco's story is about knowing the system in place sucks. Custas' story is about being screwed over by the same system. The story explicitly points those two out as mirrors: Custas is what would have happened to Coco without the right support. Coco's unique POV on the pointed hat witches shows us many prior times they are not the good guys. Hell, Custas himself talks about how the pointed hat's magical gatekeeping prevented him from living a better life.

To me, the point was supposed to be: the system in place doesn't work, which results in people in need not getting help. We loop back to the accessibility I started off mentioning. Yes, before the current system, bad things happened - but the current system is still allowing other bad things to happen now. So...why is Coco pushing Custas to join the pointed hats and abandon the faction he sided with? If a character who was upholding the status quo was doing so it would make sense (like Beldaruit) but Coco as a main character exists partially to point out why the pointed hats are not good. She demonstrates it to the reader via what happens to her AND knows it as a character. It comes off as inconsistent and frankly makes little sense.

Speaking of inconsistencies...why does Lulucy not recognize Custas, a child she's known for a while? Why does the young prince, introduced as a suspicious character on behalf of his family's unknown goals, become a helpful selfless little guy? Why are the Knights, originally introduced as an antagonistic faction because they are a milita enforcing the status quo, suddenly portrayed as fighting for good as a bunch of remarkable individuals?

Ah yes, the cops. I'm going to address something really fast about them. It makes me frankly uncomfortable the author chose their faction to evoke the two very sensitive topics of sexual assault and homophobia. I think the way those topics themselves were handled without greater context was surprisingly good, and it's touching in the first place to see an author who not only cares, but uses her series, destined partially for younger readers, to explain why she cares. However, Witch Hat is a very black and white series: the bad guys are bad and ugly and you should dislike them, the good guys are good and you should like them. There are some exceptions but who have been losing steam as of late. While originally introduced as a group of individuals who act in problematic ways for their day job, the Knights have slowly lost that bad guy flavor to become a fun band of colleagues/friends. They are law enforcers who enforce unjust laws, but it seems that the author's not on board with people hating them because this is the second time she gave a Knight a tragic backstory that makes them more sympathetic to the reader. First of: I do not see what's to redeem about them if the story's about changing an unjust system, so I don't get the necessity to make them nicer. Secondly: at least in my country (which has legal gay marriage and notably less sexist than Japan) law enforcement is renowned to not help sexual assault victims or gay people. The Knights Moralis are fantasy cops and cops, in real life, tend to abandon people who need their help regarding those two issues - if not worsen them, and count a majority of sexists/homophobes among their ranks. Making your unsubtly cop stand-in faction have both characters with those issues comes off as at least a poor decision if not bad taste.

(big words from the guys introduced in the story by arresting a bunch of children who were on a rescue mission for a misunderstanding they would not have cared about. Die idgaf)

Some more surface level things:

The art. The first books of WHA are noticeably more complex in their style featuring more reaslistic proportions for the characters. Latest arc has seen art lose some of the decorative "classic" flair in the linework and characters looking simpler and stylized to look way...Younger? In a way I do not like. Yes, it's expected for manga series to see their style evolve. I also want to make this clear: I consider the pace imposed on manga artists to be inhumane and if Shirahama had decided to draw her manga as stick figures to work less I'd be down for it.

The dialog. While WHA is very in your face (you may call it preachy) the dialog in the latest chapters especially Coco's feels off. A 12yo wouldn't give off speeches about the world in the heat of battle. When it's a calm scene between two characters discussing a deep thing, sure. When it's an epic public adult figure (see: Dean), sure. I'd prefer having the kids talk like kids.

Goddamn the story has become less nuanced and subtle over the time. Scenes like Qifrey getting confronted by Tartah post mindwiping his grandpa owned. The story's current "morally grey" moments just don't do it for me anymore. No, I don't want the witch politicians of the faction you established as a mistake beforehand to continue. I don't care if the fantasy cops are offended by a grieving husband pointing out they suck. I kinda wish he'd thrown hands actually

So...yeah, that's about it. While WHA's plot beats has always been impossible for me to predict, I don't know if I can trust where the story is going anymore. The fans eating it up confuse me and I might even get hate for posting this. Truth is, while some aspects have always been more or less present in the series since the start, I've felt like the really good bits that balanced it out have been going extinct. I don't know why and it's none of my business to. Some friends have pointed out we might be reaching a point where the author ran out of pre-written story and is now improvising. What's a bit concerning to me is I've also noticed she's way less active on social media, where she used to post regular bonus material for the series, this has stopped and I hope it's not because she lost her interest for the series or way worst, is overworked. Given the conditions for mangaka it wouldn't be impossible and like previously stated, I am of the opinion that no comic book series is worth putting their author's life, health and free time down. It's more important than me disliking the comic.

And regarding Custas - him joining the atelier to study with Qifrey would not be a good ending, no matter what the fandom says. It won't be cute found family. Custas has a family who's unique member wouldn't be able to follow him as a witch. That ending would separate a very traumatized child from the only adult he has in his life that gives him unconditional love and support. Custas needs to not be seen as a criminal so the rest of his life won't be over, and also a whole bunch of cash.

I'm not excited for the anime.

[homestuckreplay]

homestuck updates: ‘a font of frighteningly accurate yet infuriatingly nonspecific information’

(page 836-842)

After toiling through the pain and emptiness of three days without new Homestuck pages, it’s great to check back in with our old friends: Rose, Dave and- wait. Someone’s missing.

IT HAS BEEN 179 PAGES SINCE JOHN EGBERT WAS SIGHTED.

Dave is engaged in his rooftop battle with Bro. John and Rose’s ‘STRIFE!’ pages were interactive, but Dave’s is not – a direct contrast to their haunting music pages, where Dave’s was interactive and John and Rose’s weren’t. Dave also has a multi-round strife, similar to John’s imp strife on pages 393, 397 and 400. Dave’s opponent (in round 1) is really Cal and not Bro, with Bro remaining a mysterious, aloof background figure seen mostly in silhouette – John and Rose both fought their guardians directly, but Bro prefers these stealth puppetmaster tactics.

In a final difference, where John and Rose each had four strife options, Dave has eight – possibly due to more previous strife experience. His are Aggrieve, Aggress, Abjure, Abstain, Abuse, Accuse, Assail and Assault. The first four he shares with Rose, but the final four haven’t been seen before. They’re still not seen today, because Bro slices through the options with a sword in a very familiar move – Dave did the same thing to the ‘Enter name’ box on p.310. Guess we know where he learned that trick. And it really highlights Bro’s level of control over Dave, and ability to restrict his actions.

The swirling red heat behind Dave looks like an eye, and was seen reflected in Dave’s glasses on page 665, which creates this unsettling idea of Dave being surveilled by some cosmic force. Lil Cal’s glassy blue eyes are always in focus, there’s the ‘eye’ of the record on Dave’s shirt, and I’m noting this eye motif for a character who both covers his eyes constantly, and is watched constantly (p.570).

The Jade and Rose dynamic is top tier, and every time there’s a Rose pesterlog her character voice gets stronger and I love the way she talks even more. I like when we see two characters side by side and have their environments contrasted, like the panel above. I also like that Rose thinks it’s cool to have a friend with predictive abilities. Rose has a healthy respect for powers mysterious and beyond her understanding (p.297) and believes in the zoologically dubious, and I like that she is so open to the supernatural (wizards excepted). It is very funny that she is basically banging on the village seer’s door at 4am like “hey can you predict something for me. Hey what’s the omen of today??” but I have never wanted Jade to be wrong about a prediction more than when she says they ‘won’t talk again for a pretty long time’.

So far Act 3 is both focusing on a character with established future knowledge, and foregrounding the theme of fate and predetermination in the narrative, which was only hinted at before. The act began with John’s nanna’s Sassacre prophecy and immediately switched to Jade, who knew in advance that she would be introduced. We examined the magic 8 ball and magic cue ball, reinforcing the potential of prophecy, and now we learn that Jade has predicted that all four characters will play ‘a game’ on John’s birthday, that ‘it all starts’ with John and Rose, and most curiously of all, that the apocalypse and race to not die in meteor collisions ‘will be fun!!!!!!’

But she also says that ‘dave is cool’ so I wonder. Does Jade’s opinions about her friends influence the predictions she makes – she already thinks Dave is cool and so believes he will come through, even though that may not be true? Or, do the things Jade predicts about her friends influence her opinion of them – she knows that Dave will come through in the future, which makes her see Dave as cool, even though he’s kind of a shithead now?

In her GameFAQs, Rose says, ‘In our instance of this dimension, there are four receptacles for divided kernels, not three. Does this mean we are “destined” to have a four player chain? How could the game “know” such a thing?’ (p.440). Interestingly, after Rose asks this question, the narrative cuts to her first conversation with Jade. Rose presumably does not know that Jade lives beside the frog statue, but that’s the clear missing link – Skaia has predictive power as well as creative power, and Jade and the game are harnessing the same force to ‘see’ this four player chain.

Which leads to a million more questions for another day. Today, Rose captchalogues her dead cat (typical goth behavior) and heads down into an ominous, green-glowing, radioactive mad science potion lab in a very visually cool moment.

> Rose: Forget about Sburb and get really into tarot reading.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

You watch slasher movies? I haven't done so in years (much to my disappointment), got any recommendations, classics, popular, underrated, anything really?

I knew I hadn't watched them in a long time, but it wasn't till I had to try and write something based on classic slashers, that I realized how long its been since I consumed that kind of content.

My only plan so far is that I need to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Alright, Pandora, it depends on your tastes, and what you look for in a "slasher" ❤️

As you may remember, I fucking love the OG the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and when I got pretty bad last month emotionally I watched it on repeat for two weeks straight. However, if you go in for a regular slasher film you will be disappointed. The first movie is incredible, focusing on amazing shots and atmosphere for nearly the entire first half. It's less of a slasher as we would come to know the genre, and more of an artistic film centered around the horrors of humanity. The series is a wonderful mess of multiple timelines and little continuity, but the sequels better fit the slasher archetype. The best sequel (imo) is the one directly after the first, and it's a black comedy slasher, focusing more on the kills.

Now, slashers ❤️

If you're a nerd and want to experience the slasher history, then before Halloween (which still holds up) there was Black Christmas, and before that the Town that Dreaded Sundown.

The Town that Dreaded Sundown is based off a true serial killer, and unlike TCM which is loosely inspired by Ed Gein, a lot of the kills (except the trombone scene) are based on actual murders, with his mask accurate to the only real world survivor's testimony of her assault. It's very slow pace, and with how desensitized we are as a society you might find it boring, but if you ever get a phonecall from Ghostface, then you have to know the Town that Dreaded Sundown. Fun fact, his mask also inspired Jason's mask from Friday the 13th part 2!

Black Christmas is awesome! I'd recommend it more than Sundown, because of pacing, characters, acting, and overall atmosphere. I love my second wave feminism horror (Stepford Wives (mwah)), and it did a lot better with it's feminist themes than the loose remake from 2019 that tried to be intentionally feminist (ignore the 2006 remake entirely, so bad, so lame, so gross). It did the first person perspective of the killer nearly four years before Halloween's iconic opening. It introduced the idea of the final girl, but she wouldn't become a sexually repressed younger woman until Halloween solidified the trope. It has some great kills that still hold up, and Billy is iconic. I really feel the only reason why he isn't more well known in non-horror spaces is because he doesn't have a mask or outfit that can be replicated and sold in Spirit.

After that we have our most well known slashers, and they're popular for good reason ❤️

A Nightmare on Elm St, Friday the 13th, and Halloween spawned sequels that spiraled off into varying degrees of madness, but still have fun moments.

After the success of Friday the 13th (and the realization of the franchise-ability of slashers) there were a lot of slashers that tried to capture the money magic of the first few success stories. Not all of them were great, but a few notable slashers imo are My Bloody Valentine and the Dentist.

Although Candyman is often lumped in with slashers, like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the first movie is more than a traditional slasher. I recommend the first one as a beautiful love story about the horrors of American racism. It's score is still incredible, the behind the scenes are so interesting, and Tony Todd is absolutely beautiful. Such an amazing actor. (Not so) Fun fact: Tony Todd said in the behind the scenes that there originally was a romantic scene where Helen proclaimed her love for Candyman, but they were forced to cut it, because "they were okay with a tall, black man covered in bees.. but, mm, when it came to a kiss, or something like that, it was a little bit too risque..." ( :/ )

(Please please please watch Candyman)

Then the best, or worst (depending on your views), thing happened to the genre; Scream.

One of the best slashers there is, it isn't the first self referential, meta horror (see Wes Craven's New Nightmare), but it did change the slasher genre for a very long time. It was a revival for the genre, since it was declining in popularity by the early 90s. However, post Scream horror was very meta. See Chucky's personality changing from the occasional funny quip, to Bride of Chucky levels of silly (still love him tho). Of the terrible horror trying to copy Scream, I'd recommend Urban Legend over I Know What You Did Last Summer. It was a shame, just how silly a lot of scary movies got back then, trying to be as smart and self aware as Scream was.

But my favorite (outside of Scream) meta horror slasher film is Behind the Mask: the Rise of Leslie Vernon ❤️ took meta to a whole new level, mockumentary style, a camera crew follows a wannabe slasher killer explaining how to be a slasher icon.

I've watched too many slashers to remember all of them right now, but if you want really meta black comedies, Tucker and Dale vs Evil isn't a slasher but a loving joke on the genre, and the Final Girls made me laugh and cry like a little bitch.

A lot of slashers since the late 90s have drifted closer to the black comedy sub genre. Killers that kill for the sake of killing are often B-rated blood fests, that can be great for mindless fun but not so great for box office gains, especially in our current horror renaissance. Slashers don't fit in to the current horror culture. Serial killers aren't scary for desensitized audiences, and the mindless gore expectations set by older slasher films have created a pretty specific genre setup and pay off (dumb people who only exist to die get brutally murdered). It either has to be B-rated mindless fun (Laid to Rest 1 and 2 had terrible camera work and directing, making even incredible actors like Lena Headey feel lackluster, but the practical effects are so impressive I'd recommend it just for the blood and guts (and bewbs)), or comedic (the Hatchet series has great cameos, genuine laughs, and more impressive practical effects, but with good cinematography and directing (still bewbs)). Slashers that don't lean in to how ridiculous the concept of slashers are and try to take themselves seriously often end up falling short, either creating boring killers with no personality or trying to force a plot into a generic slasher shaped hole.

This does include most remakes of slasher movies, as a lot of slashers were remade in the early 2000's with less interesting characters to be killed off by the slashers. The remake of Candyman was an exception, because even though it wasn't as good as the original, it did go back to it's non slasher roots, learning from the mistake that was the third Candyman.

TLDR:

Non slashers that are considered slashers because of the slasher sequels/iconic murderers:

the Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Candyman

Child's Play

Best Precursor to the genre:

Black Christmas

Popular Classics:

Halloween

Friday the 13th

a Nightmare on Elm St

Pre 90's Slashers that I recommend:

The Dentist

Sleepaway Camp (it's divided on whether it's problematic or interesting representation)

Alice, Sweet Alice

My Bloody Valentine

Post 90's meta commentary/black comedy:

Scream

Behind the Mask: the Rise of Leslie Vernon

Hatchet

The Final Girls

Tucker and Dale vs Evil

There are obviously a lot more, but these are a few off the top of my head ❤️

[nothingenoughao3]

hai i'm curious about what twin peaks is, can you explain it to me (preferably without spoilers) /nf

Oh, is it my birthday?! Yes I can do that!

I will say that I generally do not consider things that happen in the pilot or first episode of a TV series to be "spoilers" so much as "premise". So anything I say here that's direct plot-stuff will only come from the pilot. All right? Let's dig in!

CAPSULE SUMMARY

Twin Peaks is a surreal/magical realism/police procedural/drama/horror/soap opera produced by David Lynch and Mark Frost. It had two seasons of 30 episodes total, a film (Fire Walk With Me), and a third season that came out 25 years later in 2017.

In the pilot episode, a teenaged young woman who everyone in town knows, Laura Palmer, is found murdered. The town reels to cope with her demise and the investigation. A second young woman is found alive and wandering--and she crossed state lines as she wandered. The police call in the FBI, since it's now a multi-state case, and in walks Special Agent Dale Cooper.

As Cooper begins his investigation, he discovers that there's far, far more going on in Twin Peaks than he'd first anticipated.

[NOTE HERE that Twin Peaks covers a LOT of extremely tough and triggering topics over the course of its run. DoesTheDogDie should have a list of all triggers, although those will come with spoilers. The main one to be aware of is that sexual assault, domestic abuse, and rape are discussed. The aftermath of these crimes is depicted. It's 1990, so it's not graphic as in Law & Order: SVU, but it is very much present. Please take care of yourself first!]

NOT-SPOILER REASONS TO WATCH IT

It is a vital historical work of art. Twin Peaks revived the police procedural, popularized soap operas as an art form, launched and relaunched multiple acting careers, introduced surrealism to multiple generations of TV watchers, taught basics of Buddhism, helped spread awareness of the Free Tibet movement, and inspired countless references and imitators. When you watch Twin Peaks, you'll feel like you've seen it before... because you've almost certainly seen something which only exists because of Twin Peaks.

David Lynch is Autism Patient Zero who does not compromise his writing or his vision for NT audiences. He writes dialogue and directs actors in a way that can only be described as "everybody's got the autism accent", and it is a DELIGHT to experience.

The visuals are, often, so strong that you will forget how to breathe. Many of the sets and locations are treated like characters in and of themselves.

The title, Twin Peaks, ties into the show's central themes about identity, which is one of my favorite themes in fiction. What makes you who you are? If there was someone who looked a lot like you, would that compromise who you are? What if they have the same name as you? Are you no longer who you are if you can't remember your past? Is it sometimes a good thing to change your identity? What if everybody thinks you did something unforgivable, but you don't remember it? Does society require all of us to have public faces and private faces? Does anyone really know another person's private face?

When I first watched it, nobody shipped Trucoop (Cooper with the local police sheriff, Harry S. Truman). Now it seems like everybody does and I am not alone, yaaay.

Features one of the very few trans characters in media at the time who was unambiguously positive!

Watch an episode, then pull up the IMDB and see who everyone is. I guarantee that you'll almost always find SOMEone who was famous for other stuff. If you like Star Trek, you'll find that half the damn cast was either on TNG or DS9. It is honestly astounding to me that Jeff Combs wasn't on the series (because, I assume, he was shooting Bride of Re-Animator and other stuff).

THINGS TO WATCH OUT FOR

The subtitling in some versions of the show (on DVD specifically) is really bad and unreliable. I found that the Netflix subtitles were OK. If you don't know about OpenSubtitle, I recommend using them to find better subtitles in case you need them.

As stated above, the show gets into really dark themes, and it does not shy away from them when necessary. I feel that these things are addressed in a sensitive way and frequently related to plot, but it hits everyone different.

The music... eh. I like the electro/late 80s theme and the instrumentals that back most of the scenes. But every time someone sings, I get the cringe. I've never been able to get on board with what Lynch thinks good music sounds like. But a lot of people do, so that could just be me.

It takes a lot of work to watch this show. Since so much of it is visual, it is absolutely a show you have to watch with no distractions. I found it to be worth it--past a certain point, I didn't want any distractions. But I get where it's a sacrifice of time and concentration.

If you watch it and enjoy it, you will probably end up with Lynchian Syndrome, where you are compelled to watch every other thing David Lynch has ever made and develop elaborate hypotheses on how they're all in the same universe and suchlike.

So yeah! I hope this gives you an spoiler-free idea of why this show is so special, and if you had any other questions about it, let me know!

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 6

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals, vomiting, blood and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando felt like time was moving far too slowly.

He tried to keep himself occupied on the plane, but every moment felt like an eternity. His brain kept returning to thoughts of Lizzie, the words ‘multiple seizures’ running through his mind on a continuous loop.

He had never felt so out of his depth before. Racing? Sure. Even dealing with fans and the media? That was a walk in the park compared to the knot in his stomach now.

And worst of all, the not knowing was killing him.

He had no idea what Lizzie’s condition was truly like.

Was she not responding at all? Was she in a coma? Was she… was she even okay?

He barely managed to keep it together on the plane ride...The taxi ride from the airport to the hospital felt like an eternity. Lando fidgeted in his seat, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his knee.

Every second felt like an hour. Every minute felt like a decade.

Finall, finally, the Royal Sussex Hospital loomed large, its white walls and rows of windows a stark contrast against the grey English sky. Even though it was May, the cold air was biting at his exposed skin.

As he went through the doors, his nostrils were immediately assaulted with the sterile, clinical scent of the hospital.

"Elizabeth Treshton?" he asked at the reception, Lizzie's full name feeling foreign on his tongue. Did anybody ever even call her that? Lizzie was the name she introduced herself with, Lizzie was what friends and family called her…hell, even all the fans on her instagram account seemed to have adopted that name. Elizabeth Treshton seemed solely to exist to be put on her books and that was it.  

The receptionist looked up at him with a small smile. "Yes, she's on the fourth floor. Room 404."

Lando's heart leapt into his throat. "Thank you."

He made his way to the elevator, his mind racing. Fourth floor. Room 404. Four was lucky. Right?

The elevator ride up to the fourth floor was excruciating.

The hum of the elevator’s motor and the faint music playing in the background felt like nails on a chalkboard to Lando’s already frayed nerves. When the doors finally slid open, he practically jumped out into the hallway.

404.

The room number was emblazoned on the sign next to a door partially cracked open.

Lando paused outside, taking one last deep breath to try and steel himself.

Standing outside her room, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock, introduce himself, or just stay quiet until the door magically opened. He debated for a moment, his hand hovering awkwardly for a moment before rapping lightly on the door.

There was no answer.

Silence filled the hall.

And then a voice called out, raspy and weary: "Come in."

Lando swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as a desert. With a shaky hand, he pushed the door open and took a single step into the room.

"You're...Lando Norris." His eyes immediately snapped to a man in his late 40s sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed. Lizzie's dad. There was no question about it. He looked just like her.

It was almost more as a statement than a question.

Lando, slightly taken aback, nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. Uh, I came as soon as I heard. Is she...okay?” It was a stupid question, as his gaze fell on Lizzie...dead asleep in the hospital bed.

He wasn't sure what he had expected...maybe more machine's connected to her. 

Granted, there were a few…her heartbeat was silently broadcasted to everybody in the room…there was an IV-Line in her hand…and there were also white bandages wrapped around her forearm. They were nearly the same white colour as her skin. 

Lizzie’s father nodded, a weary smile on his face. "She’s stable. Hasn’t seized in over a day. But she’s been in and out of consciousness a lot. Not very responsive when she is awake, but the doctors say that’s normal."

Lizzie’s father took a slow, appraising look at Lando, like he was trying to piece together the weirdest puzzle of his life. “I must admit, I expected pretty much anything, but not you, to be honest," he finally said drily. "Richard Treshton. Most people call me Rick."

Lando nodded, tearing his gaze away from Lizzie for just a moment. "Nice to meet you, Rick."

He felt acutely aware of the fact that Lizzie’s dad was sizing him up.

Rick leaned back in the chair, his gaze never leaving Lando’s face. "How do you know Lizzie?"

Lando felt a pang of nerves. "We, uh...we’re friends."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Friend with the benefits sort of thing, or...?"

The blood rushed to his face. "We had two dates!" Lando blurted out. "We haven't...talked about...labels yet."

Rick raised the other eyebrow, now looking rather amused. "Ah, two dates then. I see. But not...dating."

Lando huffed out a breath. "We’re not not dating."

Rick chuckled, now looking thoroughly amused.. "Right. Not not dating. Clear as mud. Two dates, huh? But you’re already flying across the Atlantic to be here? Even though I am quite sure that there is some partying to be had in Miami?"

Lando felt his cheeks redden even further, but he held Rick’s gaze. “I care about her.” The words felt a little too raw, a little too real, and the weight of them hung in the air.

Rick regarded him for a few seconds. Then a small, tired smile appeared on his face. 

"You really do, don't you?"

Lando nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He did care about Lizzie. Deeply. 

"Just don’t make me regret letting you near her, okay?” Rick said with a sigh.

Lando nodded firmly. "I won’t. I promise."

Rick studied him for a beat, as if searching for any trace of dishonesty. Then he gestured to a chair next to the bed. “Sit. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

"Where's Mara?" Lando asked as he sat down, his eyes searching for the dog.

"I made Mara take Tasha out on a walk. She goes crazy when she is copped inside for two long."

Lando blinked twice. "You made the dog take Tasha out on a walk?"

Rick chuckled. "Technically, I told Tasha to take Mara on a walk, and she agreed. Tasha kept terrorising poor Lizzie everytime she woke…besides Mara was hard at work this week, she needed a break too….she was with Lizzie when the seizures started."

Lando sat down in the chair beside Lizzie's bed, trying to process everything he just heard. He had so many questions, but the one that was the most pressing on his mind was, "How did this happen? The seizures, I mean? Did something trigger them?"

Rick’s expression darkened. "She changed medications a few weeks ago. The new one didn't do a particular good job. Clearly." He sighed. "This is the worst it has been in...around 5 years," he said with a grimace. "Around the time Lizzie got Mara, we also found a combination of medications that minimized her seizures from every few days to every few weeks...This isn't normal for her," he told Lando seriously.

 "Yes, she has epilepsy, yes, she will always have to deal with it, but Lizzie is normally able to live a a mostly "normal" life most of the time. She hasn't been hospitalised like this since her school years."

Lando nodded, trying to wrap his head around everything Rick was saying. His gaze went down to Lizzie, so small and fragile against the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. He had only seen her mostly healthy and whole so far. Even that evening after the one seizure she had had, she had looked tired, but not…not like this. 

She had still been happy Lizzie who was snarky and witty and always ready to dish out a bit of playful banter.

This Lizzie was none of that.

She was pale and still, her face drawn and her body limp. Only the occasional twitch of her fingertips or flutter of her eyelashes indicated that she was still alive.

"Is this...going to happen again?" he asked weakly.

Rick’s expression was grave. "I hope not. Not to this extent, at least. She will have seizures in the future, but hopefully they won’t get this bad again.” He paused, studying Lando for a moment. "This is...a lot. I get it if you want to bail."

Lando’s head snapped up so quickly, it nearly gave him whiplash. "Bail?" he repeated vehemently. "You think I came all the way here to just bail?"

Rick shrugged a little. "No offence, kid, but you’re a world famous racecar driver. You’re known for being a party animal. This,” he gestured vaguely towards the bed where Lizzie lay, "is a whole nother level of commitment."

Lando bristled at that. “I am not afraid of commitment,” he snapped. “ I am not going to bail just because she’s ill.”

Rick just held his gaze for a moment, then chuckled. "You got a hell of backbone, kid. I see why she likes you."

Lando felt a small flicker of pride, but it was quickly overshadowed by worry. "How long do you think she'll be like this?" he asked, gesturing towards Lizzie. She looked so lifeless, so unresponsive.

"Ah, she'll wake up again in a few minutes and ask the same exact questions, she has been asking for the last 3 days," her father said drily. "Who won Miami?"

Lando’s jaw dropped. "Winning Miami is seriously the last thing on my mind right now," he said incredulously.

"Not on Lizzie's," Rick said with a laugh. At that moment, the door opened again. Mara ran into the room, tail wagging, immediately jumping up on the end of Lizzie's bed where there was a blanket waiting for her

Lando watched as Mara lay down on the blanket, head resting on her paws. She looked like she had settled in to stay. 

"You owe Mum 10 bucks, Uncle Rick" came the voice of a young women from the doorway. "Hi, I am Tasha."

Lando turned towards the doorway, taking in the young woman who had just entered. She was striking to look at, with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright green eyes. This must be Tasha. LIzzie's best friend.

"Hello," Lando said, surprised to find himself feeling a little tongue-tied for once. This young woman exuded a kind of confident energy that made him feel slightly...intimidated.

Tasha's gaze flickered over to Lizzie's form in the bed, her expression softening for a split second. Then she fixed Lando with a calculating look, head tilted to the side."Huh. So you are the Lando Norris."

Lando shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling under the spotlight. "Uh, yeah. That's me."

Tasha's gaze was scrutinising, like she was trying to peer straight into his soul. Then she grinned suddenly, her whole face lighting up. "Damn, Lizzie really wasn't kidding. You are pretty cute."

Lando blushed, caught off guard by how bluntly Tasha was speaking. "Uh...thanks, I guess?"

Tasha chuckled, clearly amused by his discomfort. “Relax. I’m not going to bite you. I just wanted to get a good look at the guy who’s snatched Lizzie’s heart.”

Lando’s blush deepened at that, his heart fluttering in his chest at the thought. He was saved of more interrogation by Mara perking up

Mara, who had previously laid still on the end of the bed, suddenly lifted her head, ears pricked. A low, quiet whine escaped her throat, and she turned her head towards Lizzie.

Lando followed Mara’s gaze to Lizzie’s face, where her eyes slowly fluttered open.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocussed, like she was trying to remember where she was. 

There was a beat of silence before Rick spoke up softly. "Hi, sweetheart."

Lizzie’s gaze slowly shifted, landing on her father. A small, confused frown pulled at her brows. "Dad?" she murmured, voice raspy. “Where...what…"

Rick shushed her gently, moving over to the bed. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re in the hospital. You’ve had a seizure.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Who won in Miami?" she croaked out.

"The race never actually started. The Miami Dolphins accidentally flooded the track, and now it’s an aquatic event," Tasha said brightly.

…at least Lando now knew what Rick had meant with Tasha kept terrorising Lizzie. 

Lizzie slowly turned her head towards Tasha, her eyes slightly unfocussed. For a second, she just stared at Tasha, as if trying to process her words.

"You made that up?" she finally said faintly questioningly.

Tasha grinned, completely unrepentant. "Yep. But the look on your face was so worth it. You looked like a baffled trout."

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of Lizzie's mouth.

It was the first sign of life on her face since Lando arrived. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel a tiny bit hopeful.

"I feel like a baffled trout," Lizzie mumbled slowly, "Where’s Mara?"

As if on cue, Mara let out a soft whine and shoved her head against Lizzie’s hand. Lizzie’s fingers automatically curled around her fur. "Hey girl," she murmured. 

She looked tired. And pale. And fragile. But still, in that moment, she was the most beautiful thing Lando had ever seen.

"So who's won Miami?" she asked, again.

"I did."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them

Lizzie looked up at him. For a second, she looked utterly baffled, like she was surprised to see him. Then recognition dawned in her eyes.

"Lando?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, unable to form words in that moment, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Her eyes flickered over him, taking in his tired, rumpled appearance. "You're here," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Lando could only nod, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. He felt the weight of Rick and Tasha's gaze on him, but he didn't register it. All he saw was Lizzie.

Lizzie’s hand was still buried in Mara's fur, fingers massaging the dog's head gently. Lando suddenly felt the need to touch her. To assure himself that she was really there.

He reached out, slowly, carefully, as if afraid she would disappear if he was too hasty. His hand hovered awkwardly above hers for a second, hesitating.

Lizzie's gaze flicked to his hovering hand, then back up at his face. There was a beat of silence, a loaded moment, a quiet invitation of sorts.

Lando hesitated for only a second longer, then carefully placed his hand on top of hers. Her skin was cool and smooth beneath his fingertips.

There was another beat of silence, the room heavy with tension. Then Lizzie turned her hand over, fingers intertwining with his. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt like everything. Lando exhaled shakily, squeezing her hand almost without intending to.

Lizzie's thumb rubbed over his knuckles gently, a soft and reassuring gesture. Lando was suddenly hyperaware of every detail about her. The warmth of her hand, the slight chapping on her lips, the circles under her eyes, the faint scent of hospital antiseptic on her skin.

"Either my brain is really scrambled, or you are actually here. Which one is it?"

Lando huffed out a quiet laugh. "I’m really here," he said softly. "Not just a figment of your imagination. I promise."

Lizzie’s eyes fluttered shut, relief and exhaustion warring for dominance on her face.

“You won?” She asked him, her voice slurring slightly.

Lando chuckled quietly, the noise bubbling up in his chest without his consent. "Yes, I won."

Her hand, intertwined with his, twitched slightly tighter at his words. "Really?" she repeated weakly.

"Really," Lando assured her softly. "Finished in first place."

He couldn't tell whether the emotions fluttering in his chest were joy or worry. Perhaps a strange mixture of both.

“I told you, you could do it,” she said simply.

Lando huffed out another laugh, the sound tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Yeah, you did. I should really start to listen to you more often."

Lizzie’s eyes flickered, fighting to remain open. She was losing her battle with sleep.

"You look tired," he said softly, rubbing the skin on the back of her hand with his thumb. "You should sleep."

Lizzie made a small, disgruntled noise. "Don’t wanna," she mumbled stubbornly.

"You need to," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You need to give your brain a chance to rest and recover."

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest, but a massive yawn cut her off, her protest coming out as another tired groan.

"See? Your body’s betraying you," Lando said with a smile, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. Lizzie huffed, her expression somewhere between annoyed and too exhausted to care.

Her eyes were fluttering closed, trying to stubbornly refuse rest. But the exhaustion was winning, it was blatantly obvious. Lando gave her hand a light squeeze, bringing her attention back. "You need to sleep," he repeated, his voice even more tender this time.

Lizzie huffed again, but it was a weak sound, lacking any real defiance. She was giving in. "Fine. I'll sleep," she mumbled, her voice slurring with exhaustion.

She shifted slightly on the bed, still clinging on to Lando's hand like it was a life line.

Lando gave her hand another gentle squeeze, a silent encouragement. Lizzie let out a soft sigh, her grip on his hand loosening slightly as sleep finally closed in on her.

Lando watched, his heart feeling both heavy and light in his chest. She looked so small and fragile against the hospital sheets.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered softly, not sure if she could even hear him. But her fingers twitched faintly, a last, desperate attempt to cling onto consciousness. Then, finally, her hand went slack in his, and her breathing leveled out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Lando felt the tension ease from his body, a breath he didn't know he'd been holding escaping from between his lips. Lizzie was asleep, and it was the best state she could be in right now.

He looked up, suddenly remembering that they were not alone in the room. Rick was watching him silently, his gaze steady and observant.

Lando fidgeted under the scrutiny, his grip on Lizzie's hand unconsciously tightening. He'd almost forgotten about Rick and Tasha's presence, caught up in the intensity of the moment.

Tasha was watching him too, her expression hard to read. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glint that spoke of protective instincts.

"Relax, kid," Rick said, seeing Lando’s discomfort. "We’re not going to tear you apart."

Lando tried to suppress his nerves, but he felt very aware of the fact that he’s just held their daughter’s hand in front of them. "Yeah, I know," he managed to get out, his voice slightly shaky.

"Mara likes you, so I won't be too mean to you," Tasha said drily.

Lando let out a strangled laugh, feeling oddly reassured by Tasha's words. "Is...is that a good thing?" he asked tentatively.

Tasha rolled her eyes, but her expression was amused. "With Lizzie, it’s the highest form of approval you’re going to get."

[bitethedustfools]

Yuu = gn, They/Them.

I heard Rollo Flamm has a card and I thought that he had attend NRC as punishment or like, exchange student stuff or etc and then I just had an idea.

What if RSA is in this?

Crowley didn't offer such invitation but he cant exactly said no to RSA's wanting to visit NRC so said student can have experience what's it's like in another school. Afterall, his whole reputation is on the line!

And no, it's definitely not because the other headmaster praised him for being such a thoughtful person to his students that the students flourish under his guidance and kindness like flowers or something. Definitely not.

But the problem is, NRC students absolutely despise RSA that upon seeing one popping up in the school, a manhunt immediately got issued and all dorms alike would chase after RSA like a bloodhound.

So it goes without a doubt that RSA student cannot stay with any of the dorms or else they got mauled.

Crowley thought hard and long enough (not really.) and he finally came to a conclusion!

Why, there is one person who is capable of reigning those bloodhound and making them behave with each other.

Yes, Crowley can only thought of a single person who can babysit–ahem, take care of RSA and so on. There is no one, no one that is more capable than that person.

Introducing Yuu, barely hanging on for dear life as they got assaulted by this thing called misfortune and chaos, that is also the very thing that they are holding on, which is life.

And also, trauma.

Yuu can feel their sanity and patience slipping away when Crowley just dumped someone from RSA (can be Neige, or Chenya or etc) and expect them to take care of him.

Yuu is poor and theyre living in a ramshackle dorm while being accompanied by a bottomles pit for a stomach of a cat and they have to take care of this guy that Yuu was pretty sure have more money than them.

But Yuu being Yuu have no other choice, Yuu have to take care of him until that program finish and the guy can finally go back. They just have to be patient and—

— "no, Vil. stop poisoning him. I'm not blind.", "Riddle, please refrain from using your unique magic on him just because I decline the invitation.", "Ortho, please stop. You cannot use your beam on him. did Idia tell you to do this?", "Azul, you cannot swindle him into your contract, goddammit!"

…Right. It's going to be better once everything over. Yuu also had lost count how many times they got into a fight with other students or their friends just because Yuu accompanied RSA dude. It doesn't make Yuu feel any better when the guy look at them like Yuu was a knight in shining armour.

On the side note, the RSA dude is being real helpful and nice and kind as well. Ramshackle dorm is looking a bit less mess than before. Grim is fine with him and maybe that's because he feed him or something.

Actually, Yuu got feed as well. They forgotten how to go the bed with a full belly. How nice of him even though Yuu is the host. Oh well, Yuu can rest early now.

And then life pick Yuu from the dangerous flowing river and throw them into a stormy sea and said "swim".

Yuu hadn't noticed the guy is pretty much obsess with them and just assumed every thing he had done as the RSA's typical good students.

How are they supposed to know he's that kind of guy anyway? He keeps proposing and do that kind and helpful stuffs that decent people should do, as a proof of a husband material. What should they do?

It also escaped Yuu's notice that their NRC friends aren't actually friends but rather suitors that are equally obsess with them which explained why they want to smite RSA for taking Yuu's attention.

[tache-noire]

the bit in Mad God where the alchemist comes home and feeds his little pets and for the first time something is colorful and happy, but then it's quickly ripped away yet again for his own entertainment as he sets another creature loose to eat them.... there's so many ways this can be interpreted, it's fascinating. my first thoughts when i saw it were that it's like how your pets don't know that you work hard for them, they only know that they're loved and provided for and THEY live in an idyllic world---- but is it, really? after all, their world is usually so small, they don't even KNOW the whole world, only what they live in.

but now i'm thinking about it and thinking about childhood, and about how adults tend to perceive childhood as totally free from stress and strife, where everything is provided and all they have to do is play-- but then, the people who abuse others in their lives, they don't magically become better people when they have kids. they still continue that cruelty onto them. maybe they provide this dream world, but they can and will introduce pain and cruelty to it whenever they want, too. and it doesn't make any sense.

or maybe it's about how even the nice things we use to escape from our daily lives, distractions like tv shows and movies, aren't free from cruelty. abuse, assault, inequality, are all rampant in every industry, even the ones with nice bright happy faces on the front.

i'm probably going to be thinking about this movie for a long fucking time.

[punderdome]

The Fine Print: Chapter 4

Words: 2100

Rating: SFW, see content warning.

Summary: Raphael reads Tav the completed marriage agreement and shows Tav his prized treasures.

[AO3]

CW: This chapter does contain a very brief reference to sexual assault/marital rape as a topic, but there is no past character trauma or described/implied encounters. This is also NOT a non-con fic, so there will never be explicit non-con interactions in this work. The very slow burn and lead up to explicit chapters is intentional to emphasize all sexual encounters are consensual.

Chapter 4: The Appendices, the Addenda, and the Artifacts

Raphael continued his explanation of her contract as he gestured to various parts of Canian law tome volume 75, his clawed hand pointedly gesturing to various runes from subsection 381.  Paterfamilias.  Head of household.

Finding it awkward to point out specific sentences while staring at the tome’s contents upside-down, Raphael gestured for Tav to come to his side of the desk.  There was only one chair.  Gods, he wanted her to come sit on his lap.   She needed his explanations, and making him angry was just going to make the situation worse.  She didn’t want to find out about some twisted torture clause for naughty mice while facing his wrath.  

Tav rose slowly, and Raphael quickly spun the tome around to fix the orientation of the runes.  She made her way around the desk and took a seat on Raphael’s left thigh.  His left hand immediately went to wrap around her waist, and he continued to work through the translation with his right index claw tapping at the jagged script.

“Let’s begin with the summary of your duties to me.”  

Tav cut him off quickly as she watched what he was pointing at.  “Pater, you, isn't that translation much closer to father?”  Raphael chucked.

“You catch on quickly, my dearest.  It’s archaic even for the Hells and not used in Devilish Infernal outside of law references.  I’m sure you’ve obviously realized that our relationship is going to be rather different.  These other subsections,” he gestured to different paragraphs on the page, “are for other family members like children, pets, servants, and consorts and their obligations to the head of the house.”

“Head of the House of the House of Hope,” she blurted out the tongue twister absentmindedly, and Raphael’s fingers tapped over her waist in a playful rhythm in response.

“Pay attention, dear one, for I would hate to introduce restraining implements so quickly in our relationship,” he purred flirtatiously.  “You are under my absolute authority in my household, and while I will tolerate a bit of your spice and banter, outright disrespect might be subject to punishment at my discretion.  I often find your wit amusing, but I do have my limits.”  Tav knew Raphael had a fiery temper, and so far she had been able to avoid being the recipient.  It would probably be unwise to call him a sick fuck a second time.  At least not to his face.

“As we have discussed, you are my wife, and I have ownership of your body and soul.”  Tav failed to swallow a thick lump in her throat and felt horrified by the implications of what Raphael could legally force her to do.  She stiffened and tried to push the feelings down and remain calm for the rest of the reading.  She clenched her fists tightly to keep her hands from shaking.  “Tavara, look at me .”  The look on his face was surprisingly gentle and very serious.  “I know what is going through your mind, but I have no intentions of forcing myself on you or selling you to someone else.”  She unclenched her fists, and Raphael took that as permission to proceed.  “Your magic also falls under that jurisdiction.  It is mine to command, but I shall make sure you are still able to express some of your formidable powers.”  This revelation was equally as haunting.  Tav was body and soul and magic together, but now none of those truly belonged to her.

Changing the subject and moving into other territory, he continued reading.  “What items you own are now my property.  Did you own a house on Prime Material, my dearest?”

“No, I was letting out an apartment until I could save up to purchase one.”

“Such a pity,” Raphael laughed, “because that would also now belong to me.”   The idea that he cared whether she owned a modest home seemed laughable, or maybe he was hoping to have a dwelling where he could safely destroy everything within if the mood took him one afternoon.  The complete lack of any financial independence troubled her, and she had always been able to care for herself in years past instead of relying on others.

She picked up her wine goblet and took a few sips, swishing the wine around in her mouth.  “You are to provide me with children and heirs to my household.”  Tav almost spat the entire mouthful of alcohol all over Raphael’s desk and priceless, ancient Canian tome.

“Children?!” Tav squeaked, coughing and sputtering at the mouthful of wine that she inhaled instead of ingested.  The pleasant wine was sending a burning sensation down her windpipe with the tannins and hints of red fruit becoming acidic and raging.

“It can be the consequence of what a wed couple does when they are alone.”  She continued to cough and doubled over slightly trying to regain her composure and trying to pretend that he never said that last sentence.  Raphael paused until she was no longer choking out breaths.  She grimaced and motioned for him to continue.

“Now we come to the part where we discuss my obligations to you, and you may find this part of our conversation to be more pleasant.”  He sat up straighter in his chair, and Tav thought she could feel his chest puff up in pride.  “My primary duty: I am to provide you my full protection, in case you so need it.”

“What would I need your protection from?” Tav interrupted him.

He cocked an eyebrow before gesturing to the horizon in the window.  “The Hells perhaps?  As I grow in power, my number of enemies will also grow.  As my wife, you would be an incredibly valuable target for abduction.  If I give you orders for your safety and well-being, I expect you to follow them without question.”  She nodded in acknowledgment.

“Second, I am to fill your material needs and ensure you are well cared for.  Lucky for you, you shall want for nothing here.  Should you wish for something, you have but to ask myself or one of the servants.”  From the lavishness of her wedding gifts, she didn’t doubt that he would fulfill this part of his obligations.

“Third, I will prevent you from aging, so you need not be concerned over a natural death, and in the event of an untimely death, I will have retention of your soul to return you here.”  The very idea of being frozen in time within the House of Hope seemed surreal.  He would keep her here with him exactly as she is now forevermore.  Raphael ceased reading but maintained his overly-fanciful magnanimous posture.

“Is that it?” she didn’t think she saw any additional terms listed, but knowing how terrible her reading skills for Infernal Law actually were, it wouldn’t have surprised her if there were twenty additional obligations laying in wait like a predator for unsuspecting prey.

“That is it, my dearest.”

“What about the modifications in the appendix of our contract?  What else did I agree to?”

Raphael chuckled, gave her waist a cheeky squeeze, and laid out the appendix atop the Canian tome.  “First, you agreed to Haarlep.”

“What is a Haarlep?” Great, hopefully it wasn't some Infernal legal term for an unusual kink.

“Haarlep is my incubus.  They were a gift to me from my father, who uses them to distract me and fill my other needs.  I am to retain Haarlep’s services as required and keep his continued service in my home.  Should the mood strike you, we may involve Haarlep on occasion in their Boudoir should I allow it.  They are instructed not to play with you without express permission.”  That seemed… reasonable .  It was never a good idea for a mortal to be involved with an incubus without risking life and soul, though it was no longer like Haarlep really had anything left to take from her.

“On a similar subject, our marriage must be consummated within three days of our wedding feast.”  Raphael recited from their agreement.  She breathed a sigh of relief that this felt lenient for Raphael, who had been burning through innuendos all evening.  She didn’t have many choices at present, and this one seemed to be one of the very few left available to her now.

“And this last one?” Tav pointed to the final line of the Appendix.

“I have agreed to refrain from torture of either your body or your soul.”  Tav felt a strange feeling in her chest as a wave of relief washed over her.  She was happy that he willingly included this particular clause without request, but it seemed completely out of character for any being that originated in the Hells.  “I am nothing if not humane , my Little Mouse.”  She smiled gently in gratitude, though humane was definitely not in her vocabulary of how she would have described the cambion. Dastardly, yes.  Humane, no.

She climbed out of his lap.  “Thank you for the translation.”

“Of course, my dearest, Tavara.”  He rose from his chair and offered her his elbow again.  “Shall I show you around the house?”  She took his arm, and he whisked them out of the study.  He escorted her down the halls.  As they passed over a particularly warm set of floorboards near a balcony, she looked down at her feet.  She was still barefoot from losing her slippers somewhere in her second withdrawal from the portal chamber.  For all of the events of the evening, Raphael seemed not to notice.  He may have also realized it made her less of a flight risk.

He was engrossed in explaining the artwork on the walls of the corridor.  Great stained glass windows lined the outer walls, inset into carved windowsills with images of fiends cavorting.  The halls of the House of Hope were completely empty save for occasional servants passing through who bowed immediately upon seeing the master of the house and his barefoot bride.  

There was a great arched door at the end of the corridor surrounded by carved and gilded stone pillars.  Raphael led her inside and into a grand room filled with bookshelves and tomes and bathed in a gentle orange light.  The center of the floor was marble inlaid with an image of four horns, a perfect replica of Raphael’s.  At the far end of the room lay three cordoned-off marble display cases containing different treasures, seemingly out in the open.  

“This is my archive, and you may use it as you wish,” he granted generously.  He loudly cleared his throat, and a Mephistopheles Tiefling looked up and immediately rushed over to where Raphael was giving his tour.

“Master Raphael,” he started nervously, bowing as he spoke.  “How may I be of service to you today?”

“This is the Archduchess, and she is to be given full access to the archives with the exception of my treasured artifacts.  Is that clear?”  

“I shall be happy to provide my Lady with a tour or some reading materials at your pleasure.”  The Archivist bowed again in acknowledgment, afraid of looking Tav in the eye.  Raphael dismissed him with a wave of a hand and led Tav over to the three marble display cases.

Raphael started with the left pillar.  A beautiful heart-shaped ruby pendant lay carefully inside, with silver leaf trimming that made it look like an exotic fruit.  “An amulet of great power that I took from a cleric of twilight to conclude a deal.  Its bearer is said to receive blessings of health and well-being.”

“Why is it hidden away, shouldn’t you be using its power?”  Tav inquired to her new spouse.

“It’s a symbol of a pure soul that I corrupted.  A cleric protecting her flock, surrendering her powers to me.”  Tav found herself wondering as she studied the silver leaves.  Perhaps she was already corrupted before and never realized it until now.  Raphael corrupts everything he touches.

Raphael led her to the far pillar on the right containing a pair of silver and gold gauntlets with jagged, serrated golden claws instead of fingers.  “Gauntlets that provide the wearer incredible strength.”

“I’ll take it that you don’t use them because you prefer to battle with wits,” Tav mumbled idly.

“You are a clever one, my Little Mouse.”

He led her to the center pillar and she saw a scroll covered with Infernal runes, shimmering in the glowing Avernus light.  This one was enchanted to slowly spin and rotate in suspension, where the other prizes lay still and dormant.  She recognized two signatures of the signee and countersignee.

“My contract.” Tav breathed quietly.  She stepped forward and read the plaque description for this particular treasure.

“My most beloved client.”

“Perhaps we should retire for the evening,” Raphael whispered into her ear.